Just tell me your name
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: Casefic with ensemble cast. Tony confronts a suicidal girl on a rooftop, which sets off an intriguing chain of events. Warnings for generally dark themes, especially suicide, and some language. UPDATED! Final chapter and epilogue are up. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

**Author note: I don't own anything pertaining to NCIS... not even a snazzarific hat. This is my first attempt at fanfiction of any kind so go easy. ...Or don't. I've made a habit of learning from my mistakes.**

* * *

"Please," Tony pleaded. "Please, just tell me your name."

The girl looked at him with wounded eyes. _God, _he thought, _I've never seen anyone with eyes filled with pain like that unless they were physically hurt or bleeding._

"It doesn't matter anymore," she finally said.

Tony was actually grateful when she cast her eyes downward: He was relieved to not have to see her pain. _Stop, _he thought. _I have to help her._

"Why do you say that?" he asked, making his voice as gentle as possible.

He was surprised when she laughed scornfully. The sound was harsh, totally at odds with her appearance. She was probably about 17 years old, physically small with dark brown hair and soft blue-gray eyes. Her eyes weren't red; she hadn't been crying. He wished she would just start bawling. He could handle crying. What he couldn't handle was her stoic, deadly calm demeanor. He recognized it for what it was: She had given up.

She said, "Don't act like you care. You don't know me. You're just doing your job right now." She paused, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. Then she continued without letting him speak. "You're right. You will need my name."

He didn't like her tone and knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"You'll need it for your report when I'm dead."

She backed closer to the waist-high barrier surrounding the rooftop, and his heart sank.

"Please," he cried, real panic entering his voice. "Don't."

He heaved a sigh of relief when she stopped, leaning casually against the concrete, like someone waiting for a bus.

She laughed again, the sound still harsh.

"Is it a long report?" she asked conversationally. "How long do you think it'll take? All night? You don't look like the paperwork type. That must suck. Actually, would it be better if I just jump now? Maybe you'd get home at a decent hour then."

She watched him through long lashes half-closed over her pretty eyes. Her despair lessened during her little speech. It seemed to Tony more like rage building, and he was glad. Anything was better than the deadness that had been in her voice earlier.

He took a deep breath, pissed at himself for what he was about to do. "You sound angry. Who are you mad at? Think you've got the market cornered on pain?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer, but he did notice her spine stiffening at his change in tone. "You know where I was before we got a call that a girl was about to jump off this building? I was investigating a murder—of a Navy petty officer. She wasn't much older than you. I had to tell her parents that their daughter, who had chosen to serve her country, had been raped and murdered and left to rot in an abandoned warehouse.

* * *

"What the hell is he doing?" McGee asked.

"Being smart," Gibbs replied. "She's suicidal. Feeling empty and dead. He's pissing her off to get some sort of reaction from her. Anything is better than her feeling nothing."

McGee sighed, wondering why he hadn't thought of that and, more importantly, _if_ he would have thought of that had it been him on the rooftop. For the first time, he was glad it was Tony over there and not him.

He hadn't questioned Gibbs out loud when the lead agent ordered Tony to the rooftop to talk to the girl and McGee and Ziva to join him on an adjacent rooftop. They had surveillance gear and could see and hear Tony and the girl as well as if they were merely feet away. McGee could understand why Gibbs and Ziva would be better off not interacting with a suicidal teen, but he felt that he would be better than Tony at talking her down. McGee at least had a sister. But now, considering Tony's strategy, he marveled at Gibbs' ability to hand out assignments so well.

"So what do we do, Boss?" McGee asked, focusing binoculars on the girl.

"Wait. Give Tony a chance to talk to her. Fire and rescue is setting up an airbag below."

Ziva spoke for the first time since arriving on the rooftop. She was mad that she wasn't the one on the rooftop with the girl, and she was wondering for the thousandth time why everyone thought her so cold and emotionless. True, she was Mossad, but she had changed somewhat, adapting to her surroundings. And damnit, she was trying, fighting her training.

"Like it'll do any good," she scoffed. "That's a ten-story drop. She goes over the edge and she's dead."

Gibbs put down his binoculars and looked at Ziva. "Right. But we need to trust Tony to do his job."

"If she went up there to jump, she'll jump. No matter what he says," Ziva said in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, his only outward sign of his inner turmoil. Ziva was right. He shouldn't have sent Tony up there on what was most likely an impossible mission. He should have gone himself, but he hadn't wanted to, in all honesty. After he lost Shannon and Kelly, he'd had his own thoughts of suicide and didn't think himself the best person to talk someone down. He'd picked Tony because of the younger agent's vitality. The world could be going to hell around Tony and he'd make a joke.

Gibbs only hoped he had picked correctly this time.

* * *

The girl didn't verbally respond to Tony's words, but her posture changed. The anger left her completely and she visibly deflated.

Tony cringed inwardly. _No, _he thought, _I screwed up._

He maintained his outward calmness as his panic ratcheted up a notch when the girl ventured her first look over the edge. He watched her as he stood about ten yards away, reading her reaction to seeing just how far down the street below was.

_No. No, no, no._

There was nothing in her face—no emotion, no panic, not even sadness anymore. She looked like Abby looked when she was doing a calculation.

"That'll do it," he said, his voice soft again. "If you jump, you're dead."

"I know," she said. "I took physics. I understand gravity."

He almost laughed, but the deadness in her voice turned his insides to jelly. He wondered what had happened to her to lead to this moment. He panicked again when he realized he had nothing to work with. He didn't even know her name. He tried to think, to clear away the panic and focus. He had to find some sort of common ground. He mentally ran through the minefield that his childhood had been, but he couldn't settle on any one experience. He had no idea what this child had been through and he didn't want to risk picking something that would set her off.

She looked up at him quickly. He knew the anger in her eyes was suddenly directed at him, and it pierced him to his core.

"You said 'we' earlier," she said, her eyes full of recrimination. " 'When _we_ got this call.' There's more of you. They put that silly, useless airbag down there. They're watching?"

He recognized the question in her tone, and thought quickly about how to answer. "Yes," he admitted. "My team is on that rooftop watching."

"Listening?" she asked, emotionless.

"Yes."

"Your team," she said, pensive. "Must be nice."

Tony cheered inwardly. _Finally. Something to work with._

"You feel alone," he said and was surprised when she nodded. Her head stayed down as he continued. "You don't have to feel that way. Not forever. I know it's hard right now, but I believe that you can get through this. Whatever it is."

"You don't know anything about me," she practically spat. "You have no idea how hard it is right now."

He ignored her mocking tone and said gently, "You're right. I don't know. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on and I'll do everything in my power to make it right."

She looked up at that.

He flinched at the pain her eyes.

"There's nothing you can do to make it right," she whispered. "Nothing will ever be right again."

He waited, silently willing her to talk. He knew it was touch-and-go and didn't want to break the spell by opening his big mouth and saying the wrong thing.

She heaved a sigh that seemed too big for her small size. "She's dead."

"Who?" he asked, his voice low, not wanting to break her out of her reverie. "A friend?"

"My mother," she said, tears slipping down her face.

The words hit him hard even though he knew they were coming. _Here we go, _he thought, flooded by memories of his own mother. He saw her as he usually did, the visions progressing from a smiling woman doting on her little boy to his final sight of her, her limp body hanging by the neck from a rafter in the family's barn. To this day, the sweet scent of hay made him puke every time.

"How did she die?" he asked, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

She didn't answer. She only narrowed her eyes at him, looking at him as though seeing him for the first time. The September sun beat down on his black suit jacket.

"Aren't you hot?"

He smiled for the first time since opening the door to the rooftop. "Yeah."

"You have a nice smile," she said, quietly and wistfully, it seemed. "Why haven't you taken your jacket off? You must be roasting."

"I didn't want to scare you with the movement," he said.

"Liar," she said simply, without malice. "You didn't want me to see your gun."

"You are a very smart girl."

He slid the jacket off, slipping the holster off his hip with it, smoothly depositing the gun out of sight under the heavy black material. He watched her watch him as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves halfway up his forearms.

* * *

"I hate this," Ziva said, her voice showing her anger.

McGee looked at her, watched her pace. Her frustration was eclipsed only by Gibbs'. The boss hadn't said a word since his earlier exchange with Ziva, but McGee could read his mood.

"Me, too," McGee said. "But there's nothing for us to do but watch and wait."

"Like hell," Gibbs said and stormed off toward the door.

McGee and Ziva exchanged a look, silently agreeing to stay put. Neither had any idea what Gibbs was thinking, but they knew better than to ask or to leave their post.

Ziva sighed and picked up her binoculars, watching Tony roll his sleeves.

* * *

Gibbs waded through the crowd of gawkers, using his elbow with more force than necessary on the curious. He scanned the sea of people and found the face he was looking for.

"You," he said, inches from the man's face. "You're in charge."

The man looked at the agent in front of him and nodded even though he knew it wasn't a question.

"I'm Shane Malone, captain with DC Metro." He didn't bother extending a hand.

"Gibbs. NCIS. I need a sniper."

* * *

"She died when I was four," the girl began. "I barely knew her, but I knew I was safe with her."

Tony watched the girl remember happier times. He didn't speak, giving her a chance to let it out. _Finally, _he thought, _she's going to talk._

"Then she was gone," the girl's face lost all traces of the faint smile. "She went to heaven and I went to hell."

* * *

"A sniper? Are you nuts?" Malone looked at Gibbs with wide eyes.

"Do you have one or not?" Gibbs asked evenly. "Do you have a rifle? I'm a pretty good shot myself."

Malone asked, "Who are you suggesting we shoot? Is she in danger? I thought that was your agent up there with her? Who the hell is he?"

Gibbs ignored the rapid-fire questions. "A rifle?"

* * *

Tony flinched again at the girl's tone. He had never seen anyone so young in pain like this. His heart leapt to his throat when the girl climbed up onto the concrete, balancing her tiny frame ten stories above cold pavement. He prayed she wasn't done talking.

"Please," he begged, not bothering to mask the panic in his voice. "Don't. Please. Just tell me your name. You don't have to tell me any more. Just … Please. Don't. Jump."

"If I'm not going to talk, what are we going to do? Stay here and stare at each other? It's over. It was over the day she died and left me with him."

She turned sideways on the barrier, not willing to turn her back to him. She knew what would happen if she did. Keeping him in her peripheral vision, she looked down. It was time.

"My mom killed herself and left me with a monster." Tony blurted the words out without even thinking, just trying to do something to maintain the tenuous, fragile bond he had been working so desperately to build. He spoke again, acutely aware that his whole team could hear him. "I found her after she hung herself. In our barn—my favorite place. She wanted me to find her."

The girl barely looked at him. She was still looking over the edge. Her words were flat, dull and utterly emotionless. "Stop. Don't open your old wounds for me. I'm not worth it and it's already over."

She swung her legs over the edge just as Tony charged at her, knowing she was already dead.

* * *

Gibbs watched the scene unfold a rooftop away through the borrowed sniper scope. He heard the long-buried pain in Tony's voice as he told the girl about his mother. Gibbs hadn't known she had killed herself. He knew she died when Tony was young and wondered just how powerful a family the DiNozzos were to have covered up that fact. The report said accidental death, Gibbs knew. A second thought hit him just as the girl swung her legs over the abyss: He was sorry he sent Tony up there and couldn't begin to imagine how hard this must be for his agent.

He erased the thoughts from his mind and fired the rifle, knowing even as he pulled the trigger that it was too late. The rubber bullet he had planned to take the girl down with would arrive too late.

The girl was dead.

* * *

McGee gasped as he watched the girl slide from her precarious perch and go over the edge. He was still reeling from Tony's heart-wrenching admission about his mother. He knew Ziva was just as stunned. Neither had heard anything from Tony about this before; the man had never even hinted at the horror he must have felt finding his mother dead by her own hand. Nothing in his happy-go-lucky demeanor ever spoke to the wounds he suffered. McGee thought back to every suicide they'd ever worked, but he couldn't find any sort of clue. It occurred to McGee that Tony must be a master of disguise and a damn good actor for them—especially Gibbs—to have not noticed what had to have been brutal experiences.

Ziva heard Tony's words and they confirmed what she had long suspected: Tony wore a mask, never revealing his true self that hid behind the frat-boy persona he so carefully constructed.

She saw the girl turn and slip over the edge. She was ashamed when she felt no emotion, even knowing the girl was dead.

* * *

Tony launched himself at the low retaining wall, gasping in pain as his hips slammed into the concrete. He flung his hands and upper body over the edge, thinking he was too late and already cursing himself for being too slow.

He gasped again, in surprise this time, when he felt fingers catch his left hand. He looked down at the girl dangling ten stories above a crowd of enraptured onlookers. He saw fear in her eyes and felt her fingers digging into his wrist.

She wanted to live.

He reached down with his right hand to get a better hold on the girl and barely registered the bullet whooshing over his shoulder. He gripped the girl's fragile wrists, wincing, knowing he was hurting her.

"Don't worry," he panted. "I've got you."

"You really do care," she said, sounding amazed.

He smiled fleetingly, his relief fading as he realized she was slipping from his grasp. He started to pull her up, only to feel her slip in their sweaty grasp.

"My name," she began, meeting his brilliant green eyes. He held her eyes as he struggled to hold on to her hands. Because he was looking directly into her eyes, he saw the exact moment she knew neither of them could hold on any longer. Her nails left a bloody trail down his wrist as she slipped from his grasp.

"… was Amie."

* * *

Tony watched the girl fall ten stories. He heard her terrified scream. He felt their combined sweat on his hands. He saw her body impact the pavement below. He heard the collective gasp of the crowd watching the drama play out.

He drew a shaky breath, unable to move, to think.

* * *

Gibbs, McGee and Ziva all converged on the rooftop at the same time. They opened the door to find Tony hadn't moved an inch. He was still leaning over the edge, staring down at the girl's lifeless body. Gibbs motioned his agents to stay put and slowly walked toward DiNozzo. He almost let McGee go to him. Gibbs had no idea what to say.

His voice was soft. "Tony?"

Tony straightened but didn't turn around. He didn't speak.

Gibbs moved closer and put a hand on Tony's shoulder. He could feel the tremors running through his agent's body. He watched Tony rest his hands on the ledge and saw the bloody streaks that ran from the middle of his forearm to the knuckles on his left hand.

Gibbs reached out to inspect the wounds, but Tony batted his hand away. "Don't."

"All right," Gibbs said, eyeing the wounds that oozed fresh blood.

_Guess he'll have physical scars from this, too, _Gibbs thought sadly.

Gibbs glanced down at the street below and saw medical personnel preparing to bag the girl's body.

"You don't need to watch that, Tony," Gibbs said, gently taking Tony by the upper arm and pulling him away from the wall.

Tony allowed himself to be led away. He didn't really want to watch, but he felt he owed the girl something.

"Amie," he whispered without realizing he had spoken. He looked down at his bleeding wrist, watching the blood drip from his fingertips and willing it to hurt. He couldn't feel anything. _Neither could she,_ he thought. _This was her life. This was it. Just numbness._

Tony's knees buckled and he landed hard in a kneeling position. He was vaguely aware of Gibbs yelling at someone to get Ducky, probably Ziva or McGee. _They know now, _said a voice in his head. _They know everything. Well, not everything. At least he hadn't embarrassed himself by going into detail about his monster of a father. He was okay with them knowing how little the man cared about him, but he wasn't sure he could deal with their sympathy if they ever found out how badly he had been abused. If they found out about the beatings, the guilt laid at his feet over his mother's suicide…_

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs practically shouted in his ear.

Tony looked up at his boss's face. "Yeah?"

"Ducky needs to look at your wrist," Gibbs said softly, feeling increasingly worried about his agent's mental status.

Tony hadn't noticed Ducky crossing the rooftop and kneeling beside him. He didn't even flinch when the medical examiner gingerly took hold of his injured hand.

"I know," Ducky said empathetically, wiping away the blood to reveal three long trails where the girl's nails had gouged his skin. "I know that hurts."

Ducky turned Tony's wrist over in his gentle hands, probing the fourth gouge, from the girl's thumbnail. It was the deepest cut and the most worrisome because it crossed the delicate veins just below the skin. "You're going to need a few stitches in this one. The others will just leave nasty marks."

Tony's face didn't register any reaction to the words. McGee and Ziva exchanged a look, expecting Tony to protest. They just stared when it never came. McGee was worried. He had never seen his friend like this and it scared him. Tony was the rock of the team. Nothing shook him—he could even stand in face of Gibbs' formidable rage and not blink.

Gibbs was equally worried. The agent's physical injury was superficial but the psychological damage was obviously extreme. Tony didn't just fall apart. He kept his head—always—and usually made a joke or two no matter what the circumstance.

Gibbs offered a hand to Tony, suddenly needing to get him off the roof. Maybe that would break the spell. "Come on, it's over. Let's go."

That finally brought Tony out of his trance. He stood, hands balling unconsciously into fists at his sides.

"Over? It's over?"

There was venom in his voice, and Gibbs backed away slightly from the agent's sudden rage. He held his hands up, showing he wasn't a threat.

"You're right," Tony spat out. " 'It' is over. 'It' being her life. She was what? Seventeen, eighteen? She should be picking a college right now, not having the splattered contents of her head picked off the ground by some stranger."

Tony had been slowly advancing on Gibbs as he spoke, and for the first time, Gibbs backed down. When he didn't respond, the fight seemed to go out of Tony all at once, and he brushed past Gibbs, not making eye contact with anyone as he stalked off the rooftop.

Gibbs watched him go, heard the heavy door slam behind him. Gibbs stood stone-still, completely at a loss for what to do. He suddenly wished he hadn't backed down from Tony's rage. It probably would have been better for him to push the agent, let him try to pummel the crap out of his superior. Perhaps it would have released some of his anger. Gibbs knew him well enough to know that Tony would turn that rage inward, holding it in until it festered into all-out self-loathing. That snapped him out of the spell and he barked to his team: "Go find him!"

McGee and Ziva scurried off the rooftop in time to hear the door at the bottom of the staircase slam shut.

* * *

Tony hung a right out of the building, fighting the urge to go to where Amie's body lay and touch her, offer her some sort of comfort. As if she weren't beyond comfort. But he knew he couldn't. The sight of her broken body lying in an ever-widening pool of blood had been seared onto his retinas. He barely saw the car in front of him because of the ghostly vision, but he got in, slammed it in gear and drove away, knowing exactly where he was heading without even considering the options.

McGee and Ziva ran out of the building just in time to see the government-issue sedan pull away. McGee instantly had his phone in his hand, dialing Tony's cell. A second later, they both saw the mobile phone sail out of the driver's side window and smash into a thousand pieces on the pavement.

McGee would have laughed at the sight had he not been so worried about his friend.

Ziva looked around, ready to steal a car to follow her partner. All she saw was Gibbs standing outside the building, eyes following the departing vehicle.

"Let him go," Gibbs said.

"But, boss," McGee protested, "he tossed his cell. We won't be able to track him now."

"We can track the car," Ziva said, her eyes lighting up as she pulled out her cell to call Abby.

"Put the phone away, Ziva," Gibbs said. "We're not tracking anyone. If he needs to be alone, then we'll leave him alone." A pause. "For a little while, at least."

"Best thing you can do for him right now," Ducky agreed as he walked up to the group.

"But what about his wrist?" McGee asked. "He left a trail of blood on the stair railing."

Ducky answered, putting a hand on McGee's shoulder to steady the wide-eyed agent. "The injury is not life-threatening, Timothy. Not as it is, anyway."

The doctor's quiet addendum drew the gazes of the team. No one seemed ready to put into words what the doctor may have meant.

Ziva finally spoke, her voice showing uncharacteristic uncertainty, "You don't think he would …"

She trailed off, unable to complete the question.

"No," Gibbs said with certainty. "He's hurting right now, but he wouldn't. He would never. He just needs some time alone to clear his head. I'm sure he'll be back at his desk tomorrow morning, just like he always is."

_And if he's not, _Gibbs thought, _there's going to be hell to pay._


	2. Chapter 2

Tony drove. His conscious mind calculated things like how long it would take him to make the two hundred plus mile drive and when he would need to stop for gas while his subconscious raged at him.

_You could have stopped her. If you had said the right thing. If you had been faster, stronger. You should have held on tighter. _

"I'm so sorry, Amie," he said softly, seeing her pretty young face as if she were sitting right beside him in the car.

_You should have tackled me first thing. _His thoughts suddenly came in her voice and he could see the recrimination in her blue-gray eyes. _Before I even got close enough to that wall to jump, you could have stopped me._

"I'm sorry!" he cried, slamming a fist into the steering wheel.

He shook his head, concentrated on the road and tried to clear the girl from his mind. He curled and uncurled the fingers of his left hand, trying to register the pain of the injury he knew was there but couldn't feel. Looking down at the scratches, he wondered briefly if he should try to wrap it in something, but decided against it. The minimal amount of blood still leaking from the deepest gouge was collected by his still-rolled sleeve.

He found himself suddenly back on the rooftop, unbuttoning the cuff. There was something in the way she looked at his hands, something that hadn't registered then, but in his mind's eye he saw her shudder in the late-summer sun.

_What was it about my hands? What happened to her to make her so numb?_

He wondered if he would ever know her story. He wondered if his team would get anything out of the family besides the usual "we thought everything was fine" or "she'd been sad lately but we never would have imagined…"

Something that had been bugging him ever since he first saw the girl suddenly snapped into clarity and then just confused him more. _She was too young to be in the Navy. _The call that came in said a Navy officer had gone up to the roof looking distraught. _Someone in a Navy T-shirt, _he corrected himself.

The bitter sound that came out of him was half laugh, half choked sob. "We shouldn't even have been there."

He knew he was talking to himself, but he didn't care. His emotions were raging, hands shaking slightly on the wheel as the mile markers flew past.

_It shouldn't have been me up there. Whoever made that call should have called DC Metro. They would have had a crisis negotiator who could have handled it better. Someone who could have talked the girl into coming down. It should NOT have been me._

Even while his subconscious railed him for his failure, a tiny part of his mind wondered if someone else _really _could have done better. He had gotten her to understand that he cared… right at the very end. The thought brought that terrible moment rushing back at him like a tidal wave, and he choked out an anguished cry as he pulled the car off the side of road, the memory of the look in her eyes when she knew it was over threatening to drag him under with the force of an ocean's worth of water.

He sat by the side of the road, just breathing slowly, trying to think of anything but the pretty girl who he knew would never leave him. She would always be there, probably like the scars that would form on his wrist. He looked down, noting that the bleeding had stopped and his sleeve—saturated with crimson—was starting to drip onto his pants. With a sigh, he climbed out of the car and retrieved the small first-aid kit from the trunk. Without really looking, he grabbed a roll of gauze. Settling back into the driver's seat with a heaviness he hadn't felt in a long time, he sloppily wound the gauze around his wrist and tucked in the tail, realizing he hadn't bothered to grab tape from the supply kit. Shrugging, content that his handiwork would save his pants from further ruin, he started to drive again, knowing he was near his destination.

* * *

"Why is it that Gibbs never does this?" Ziva grumbled as she drove, looking for the address they had found on the license in Amie's wallet.

McGee just looked at her for a moment. "Are you serious? _He_ got _paid_ a visit like this, Ziva. When his family was killed?"

"I am sorry. I did not think about that," she snapped, hardly sounding contrite.

Turning, McGee asked, "Why are you so cranky, Ziva? You've been pissed off about something since we got this call this morning."

"Honestly, McGee?" she paused, then plunged right in. "I have no time for suicidal people. In my country, we see death every day. Too much death. Too many innocent lives ended too soon. Too many young people's lives are cut short in the blink of an eye. I do not have sympathy for these spoiled children who take their lives for granted."

McGee pondered that. "But you don't know what she's been through. Just because she didn't live in an actual war zone doesn't mean she didn't live through a war."

"We are here," she said, turning into a driveway beside a modest, two-story home and effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

_Well, _Tony thought, _you're here. _

He got out of the car, stretching stiff limbs. Almost immediately the sickly sweet smell of the hay hit him, like a sucker punch straight to the stomach. He made it to the back of the car before vomiting onto the gravel drive. He put both hands on the trunk, taking a steadying breath before straightening and walking into the barn.

* * *

Ziva rapped on the door, harder than necessary, McGee thought. He had understood what Ziva said about her country, but he also believed people walked through all kinds of hell on this earth and situations couldn't always be compared.

He shook off his thoughts as the door opened and a middle-age man asked, "Yes? How can I help you?"

McGee took a deep breath and started to open his mouth, but Ziva was already saying, "Mr. Bennett? We're with NCIS. Naval Criminal Investigative Service. May we come in?"

The man frowned, a wariness appearing in his eyes. "Yes, of course. Is something wrong?"

Ziva and McGee followed him into a spacious living room done in soothing greens and blues.

_There's going to be nothing soothing about this,_ McGee thought. "Your daughter is Amie Bennett?"

"Stepdaughter, yes," the man said, eyeing both agents with a guarded look. "Has she done something wrong?"

"No," McGee said, giving a sidelong glance at his silent partner. "I'm afraid that we're here to tell you she is dead. She committed suicide this morning."

The man's eyes went wide and he put on hand on the nearest sofa, steadying himself. His voice was low when he asked, "How? How did she do it?"

* * *

_She must come out here while I was at school, _Tony thought as he walked into the barn, knowing as the scent of hay grew stronger that he would have puked again if he had eaten at all today. He stopped, still as a statue, rooted to the packed-earth barn floor and stared, just as he had all those years before.

_He knew she would be in the barn so he ran straight there after the bus dropped him off out front. He raced to the old wooden structure, clutching a report with a big red "A" on the front. He knew she would be so proud and he couldn't wait to show her._

_He bounded into the barn and skidded to a stop. The scent of hay invaded his nostrils as the sight assaulted him. He blinked in surprise, unsure of what he was actually looking at even as overwhelming sadness and anger began to burn in his soul._

_She was hanging from a rafter, her body dangling lifelessly in the wide center aisle. The slight breeze pulled at the long white dress she wore, giving the fleeting appearance of life. His heart surged at the thought even though he knew she was dead. _

_He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but some time later, the stern footfalls behind him snapped him from the trance. He turned, slowly, and looked up at his father, tears starting to spill from his dark eyes._

* * *

Gibbs walked slowly up behind his agent, observing silently, not sure if he should proceed or just leave before he was caught. He had felt guilty telling Ziva and McGee to inform the family. He had felt guilty asking Abby to trace the sedan Tony was driving. He had felt even guiltier not filling her in on why or what had happened. It was only Ducky's words that had brought him to this point.

"_I didn't want to say it in front of the others. But I don't think he should be alone right now."_

"_I know, Duck."_

So he had followed Tony, tailing him from a distance even though he doubted DiNozzo was in any shape to spot a tail. He had only come close, he thought, when Tony had pulled off the road suddenly. Watching the younger man go to the trunk and wrap his injured wrist, Gibbs had almost approached him then. But he waited, following, knowing Tony had a definite destination in mind and knowing where that destination was.

Gibbs paused behind Tony, uncharacteristically unsure what to do for the second time that day.

* * *

_Young Tony looked up through his tears at his father._

"_DiNozzos don't cry," the man said, slapping his son viciously across the face._

_Tony looked at the ground, watching his tears soak into the dirt at his feet. He hoped if he stood still enough, his father would just leave. After what felt like an eternity, he saw blood mix with his tears. He knew from previous experience that if he looked in a mirror, his lip would be split and bruised. _

_Last time, his mom had held him and cleaned the wound with a soft cloth. He choked on a sob as he realized no one would help him now. He was alone now and the thought turned his legs to jelly. He sank down into a heap and sobbed, unable to stop the tears from turning to great sobs that wracked his small body. He knew he had to stop or face the beating that was probably coming anyway. His father would blame him for her death. He knew. _

* * *

Tony breathed in the horrid scent of hay and tried not to think about that beating. He jumped about a mile at the soft sound behind him. He whipped around and pulled his gun, knowing that if he saw his father behind him, he'd put two in his fucking skull.

"Whoa, easy," Gibbs said, palms turned outward as he had on the rooftop a lifetime ago.

"Sorry, boss," he said automatically, holstering the weapon.

They looked at each until the awkwardness blossomed into something like physical discomfort.

"Trace the car?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, I had Abby do it."

Tony's head snapped up. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her anything. She only knows that the autopsy Ducky is doing is a suicide we caught today. Can't promise the others won't say anything though." He paused. "I thought…"

"Thought what?" Tony asked tiredly. The day was catching up to him, and he suddenly wanted to be home, on the couch watching a movie with Abby.

"I just thought you told Abby everything," Gibbs said, looking more and more uncomfortable.

"Does he live here?" Gibbs blurted, wishing he had stayed back in the District.

"Not anymore. Not since…"

Gibbs sighed, wanting to apologize but unable. Not because of his well-known feelings on apologies but because he didn't think Tony could handle it right now, and Gibbs knew his own inadequacies when it came to comforting people in pain. Especially people close to him. Needing to focus on something else, anything else, he asked, "How's the wrist?"

Gibbs felt a tiny flare of panic when Tony actually looked confused.

"It's fine," he said finally.

Gibbs could see tinges of red starting to seep through the underside of the bandages, right over the delicate veins in his wrist. He let it go, though, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere with the stubborn agent.

"I need to get out of here," Tony said suddenly and stalked to the door.

"Leave the car," Gibbs said, wincing at the harshness in his voice. He hadn't meant for it to sound so much like an order. _God, I'm terrible at this. _"I'll have someone from a closer office come get it."

Tony turned, standing beside the car in the waning light. He had a funny half-smile on his face. "Really, Gibbs? You really want to spend two hundred miles with me and my fucked up head?"

Pouncing on Gibbs' split-second hesitation, he said, "Follow me back?"

Gibbs nodded, sizing up his agent and deciding he was fine to drive. "You want to stop somewhere on the way back? Grab some dinner?"

"Sure, Boss," Tony agreed reluctantly, knowing it would allow him to drive back alone—and alone with his thoughts.

Just as the men got into the cars, there was a clap of thunder and the clouds burst overhead, sending down a torrent of rain. Tony sighed, looking up at the dark clouds that matched his black mood. It was going to be a really long drive.


	3. Chapter 3

They were about halfway back to DC when Gibbs flashed his high beams. Tony sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was sit through an awkward dinner with his boss. He pulled into the restaurant parking lot, thankful that at least the rain had stopped. He walked to where Gibbs stood beside his car.

"Boss, can we not do this?" he asked, hating the pathetic whine in his voice.

Gibbs gave him a hard look, then relented. The man looked exhausted. "Make a deal?"

Tony nodded. "Anything."

"Let me look at your wrist."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Seriously? It's fine. _I'm _fine. I'm not a fan of the kid-gloves treatment, and frankly, you're not very good at it, so can we just stop pretending?"

Gibbs' gaze grew steely and Tony immediately regretted his words.

"Fine. Have it your way. Take tomorrow off?" he asked, knowing the stubborn agent wouldn't agree.

"Right," Tony said, wanting to apologize but thinking better of it. "We both know that's not gonna happen."

Gibbs was still shaking his head when he got in the car and left Tony standing in the parking lot. Tony closed his eyes, tilting his head back with a sigh as the rain started to fall again.

"Perfect."

He was soaked to the skin in the short time it took him to get back to the car. The sun having long set, there was a chill in the air and Tony shivered as he cranked up the heat. He pulled out of the parking lot, knowing he should stay and wait out the worst of the storm. He just couldn't, though. He wanted to be home. The thought of a hot shower and a stiff drink put a half-smile on his face.

He parked the government vehicle in his building's garage an hour later and wondered just how much hell he'd catch for taking it home. He didn't really care, though. He dropped the keys on his kitchen table and walked to the bathroom, shedding dripping clothes as he went. While he waited for the water to heat up, he unwound the gauze from his wrist, wincing as the material stuck in the wound. He put his hand under the water, letting the steady stream wash the blood from his skin.

_That's gonna leave a mark, _he thought, examining the wound for the first time. He stepped under the spray, the heat of the near-scalding water effectively chasing away the thoughts of Amie gripping his hands. Through sheer force of will, he kept his mind blank and let the water running down his body wash away the pain and tension of the day. Only when the water's temperature started to drop did he step out and wrap a towel around his waist.

He moved to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. He took a sip of the amber liquid and poured the rest down the drain. Considering that his family tree was watered with alcohol, he didn't really want to start drinking to deaden the pain. He didn't even _want_ to deaden the pain. He had spent the entire day feeling numb, and he welcomed the aching sense of loss because at least he was feeling something. The slight sting in his wrist grounded him and he was glad for it.

Looking down, he noticed fresh blood starting to run from the deep wound on the underside of his wrist. He was walking back to the bathroom when he heard a soft knock at his door.

"Crap."

He opened the door half-expecting Gibbs, and he blinked in surprise at the dark-haired girl on his doorstep.

"Abby," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "It's 2 a.m."

"I know," she said, looking sheepish. "Please don't be mad but Timmy told me what happened—he told me _all_ of what happened—and I didn't want you to be alone so I figured I could just stop by and keep you company. But don't be mad at Timmy. He didn't want to tell me but I knew something was wrong when he and Ziva came back without you and Gibbs and the two of them were all moody and Ziva was angry so I made him tell me. Have you been working out? You look really … hard, and oh my god, Tony, you're bleeding."

He looked down as she took his hand in hers. "Thanks for coming, Abby."

She looked up at him, smiling. "Of course I came. You're like my big brother. Now let's get this taken care of."

She made him sit on the couch while she rummaged through his bathroom looking for bandages. He sat patiently, giving in to her tender ministrations because he was tired and he knew he had no choice. She cleaned the wounds and wrapped his wrist in white gauze.

"You need stitches," she said when she was done. She sat next to him on the couch, leaning her head on his shoulder. He put his injured arm around her and she propped it up on a pillow in her lap.

"I know. That's what Ducky said."

"You'll let him do it tomorrow." It wasn't a question and he smiled at her feistiness.

"Sure." She settled closer to his side and he felt okay for the first time that day. "Thanks, Abbs. I really needed this," he said quietly.

* * *

Tony awoke the next morning still on the couch and still in the towel. At some point during the night, Abby had covered him with a soft blanket and left. There was note on his coffee table that read simply:

_No, I didn't peek. And don't forget to see Ducky._

_Abby_

He smiled, thinking about the brother-sister dynamic their relationship had taken on. They mostly hung out watching movies together or occasionally went out clubbing. He knew she was an amazing dancer and the thought of her bouncing around on a dance floor made him decide to ask her to go out with him that night. An evening of loud music and good company was just what he needed. Maybe he'd invite Tim and Ziva, too.

He wasn't mad at Tim for telling Abby everything that had happened. He was actually glad because it saved him the pain of reliving it. He grimaced when he remembered that he would have to relive it, in excruciating detail, for his report. He sighed and finished getting ready for work. It was going to be a long day.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony stood in the elevator, looking longingly at the emergency shutoff. He didn't want to face his team—his friends—after having let something so devastatingly personal spill. He was careful about letting them see only what he wanted them to see. Most of it was pure act, especially the sophomoric humor that had always driven Kate so crazy.

_Where the hell had _that_ come from? _ he wondered. _Great, I'm going to be seeing dead people all day. _

Who was he kidding? Even the oblique movie reference didn't cheer him. His movie addiction was the one thing he didn't fake. He loved the escapism of film and wondered if anyone on his team even realized why he was so attached to movies. He also wondered if he was going to be able to pull off the act today. His mood was still as dark as the dreams that had haunted him since his mother's suicide.

Maybe he should just leave the mask in the elevator today. It would be so much easier to just _be._

_Right, _he thought, mentally headslapping himself. _Just spill your guts to your coworkers and watch them wonder if the nutjob they had to trust with their lives was up to the task. Just tell them everything. Casually mention that every time they worked a suicide, you end up either puking your guts out in the victim's bathroom, taking some random woman home for meaningless sex or drinking yourself into oblivion and occasionally punching holes in your wall. While you're at it, tell them that you really don't have commitment issues, it's just that it's too hard to explain the nights when you get too comfortable and wake up screaming, lost in your own private hell. _

He laughed caustically just as the elevator doors opened onto his floor. _Yeah, now they don't just think you're nuts… they know._

He ducked his head to hide his embarrassed flush and made a beeline for his desk. He decided to go with his angry-Tony persona and threw glares at Ziva and McGee that dared them to ask how he was.

He needn't have bothered. They were at Ziva's desk, her in her chair and him sitting on her desk, heads down, deep in conversation. Ziva saw him first and expertly steered the conversation away from whatever intense topic they had been discussing to something innocuous.

Tony saw through it, though. He was starting to be able to read the Mossad officer, albeit slowly. Not to mention the guilty look on McGee's face.

"I'm not really that interesting, I promise," Tony said, wondering why he had ditched angry-Tony and went straight for funny-Tony, like he always did. A part of him really just wanted to be angry today. Even his flat attempt at humor ripped at him, making him feel like he was betraying Amie.

He shoved away thoughts of the dead girl before they could consume him. He couldn't fall apart again, not in front of his team, who were curiously just staring at him, neither speaking.

"What?" he asked, not allowing even a hint of emotion into his voice. "Before you fall all over yourselves asking, I'm fine."

Ziva nodded slowly, not really believing him but knowing not to push. "Okay, Tony."

McGee also nodded. "Sure, of course."

"Good," he said, taking a seat. "Where's Gibbs?"

He saw the quick worried glance they shared and sighed. "What the hell, you two? I'm not going to fall apart on you. I promise." He wasn't sure he believed himself but he knew he had to sell it.

Ziva spoke while McGee just looked nervous. "He is in interrogation. Has been since he got back last night."

Tony blinked. "We get a case?"

Again the sidelong glances. Tony felt like he was going to start screaming and never stop.

McGee this time: "Roger Bennett. The girl… Amie's stepfather."

Hearing her name was like getting punched in the gut, but he schooled his features and let none of his anguish show. He narrowed his eyes at McGee. "Since last night? Why? She wasn't even our jurisdiction. Wearing a Navy T-shirt does not actually make someone Navy personnel."

"Her biological father was a Navy officer," Ziva said. "Gibbs is particularly intent on finding out why she—why this happened."

Tony jumped to his feet, the look on his face murderous as he remembered what Amie had said. _"She went to heaven and I went to hell." If that son of a bitch had hurt her... _

He took off toward interrogation, but Ziva caught him by the arm. "You do not want to interrupt Gibbs. When he came back last night, it was like… I have never seen him that angry. I think he is thinking what you are. If that man hurt her, he will get it out of him. You know that."

Tony sighed, knowing she was right. He also knew he was part of the reason Gibbs was so pissed. Tony mentally kicked himself again for his hurtful words the night before.

"Tony," Ziva breathed his name, looking down at her hand as she released his arm. Her palm was smeared with blood.

"Crap." He turned toward the elevator and hoped she wouldn't follow. As the doors slid shut in front of the solo occupant of the cabin, he raised his left arm to his chest and gripped his wrist, thinking about his second ruined shirt in as many days and immediately berated himself.

_She's dead and you're worried about a shirt? Disgusting._

He was still shaking his head as he stepped into the chilled air of the autopsy room. He was about to call out for Ducky, but the words died on his lips when he saw the black body bag resting on one of the far tables. The shape of it hinted at an obviously small frame inside. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to vomit.

"Anthony!" Ducky exclaimed from somewhere behind him. He felt a hand on his elbow, steering him to the nearest table. He allowed the medical examiner to settle him onto the cold steel with his back to the bag that was so obviously the source of his distress.

"Hey, Ducky," he said. "Abby said she'd kill me—without leaving a trace, of course—if I didn't come see you today."

The doctor smiled, noting that Tony looked fairly well-rested given his trials of the previous day. He suspected the young scientist had something to do with that.

"Let's see what we've got here," Ducky said, tsk-tsking as he unbuttoned the agent's bloody sleeve. "Anthony, you've really got to start taking better care of yourself."

"Why, Duck?" he asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "When I've got you to do it for me?"

Ducky didn't reply as he examined the injury, noting that only the deepest cut was actively bleeding. Still, the doctor brushed antiseptic across the wounds on the back of his forearm and hand, murmuring an apology when Tony flinched and tried to pull away. He turned Tony's hand over in his and looked closely at the wound there. He wordlessly moved to fetch the supplies he would need to suture the wound, and Tony couldn't take it anymore.

"What? No story for me about how you—"

Ducky cut him off, his voice unusually harsh. "Stop. Not everything is a joke, Anthony."

Tony was probably just as surprised as the medical examiner when he blinked back the tears that suddenly stung his eyes. _I'm really losing it, _he thought. _DiNozzos don't cry. Hell, _I _don't cry—and certainly not over something like this._

Ducky watched the young man struggle with his emotions, silently willing him to give in and cry, but knowing he wouldn't. "Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be short with you. I just worry about you and the way you bottle everything up inside. You really must learn to just let it go. And you definitely need to take better care of yourself. You're bleeding all over the place and you walk in here as casual as if you were picking up a date. It's not healthy."

"I know," Tony said softly, his eyes downcast. Neither said another word as the doctor put a few stitches into the agent's wrist, closing up the part of the damage that hadn't already begun to heal.

"That should do it, my boy," Ducky said, wrapping the wrist in what Tony deemed an extraneous amount of white gauze. He'd ditch it later when the doctor wasn't around.

"I look like I tried to off myself," Tony said, grimacing before he even finished the sentence. "God, sometimes I even hate the stupid things that come out of my big mouth."

Ducky fixed him with an intense look and put a hand on his shoulder. Looking directly into his glittering green eyes, the doctor said, "You did everything you could for that girl, and none of this is your fault."

"Thanks, Duck," Tony said quietly. "I just wish I knew what happened to her."

"You and me both, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, sweeping into autopsy with his usual vigor even after what must have been a long night.

Bolstered by Ducky's kind words, Tony said, "Boss, I'm sorry about what I said last night. I just—"

Gibbs shook his head. "Just because you and Duck got all mushy doesn't mean we have to." The words carried Gibbs' usual bite, but Tony saw that he had said them with a smile and he knew all was forgiven.

Tony hopped off the table and caught the spare shirt he kept in his desk that Gibbs tossed at him. The man was either psychic or he had seen Ziva. Tony was glad his coworkers had stayed upstairs. He didn't want them to see the bandage on his wrist—hated the thought of them seeing him vulnerable—and he buttoned the shirt and yanked the sleeve down to his knuckles. A sliver of white gauze peeked out from under the green sleeve that Abby said matched his eyes, but it would have to do.

"Thanks, Boss," he said, watching Gibbs watch him fuss with the sleeve.

Gibbs nodded, wondering who had drilled it into the younger man to not show weakness. He wondered if it was only his own words and actions, but set the thought aside, saying, "Bennett's not giving anything up. Swears he never touched the girl. Claims he didn't even see this coming."

Gibbs was watching Tony as he relayed the information and didn't miss the darkening in his agent's eyes. He wondered what emotions were raging behind those unreadable orbs. Everyone assumed Gibbs could read anybody with just a look, but the truth was he was never sure when it came to DiNozzo and real emotions. He could read the mask easily enough and guessed he was right about half the time when looking beyond Tony's carefully constructed veil. But there were some times when Gibbs thought finding the real Tony was like trying to spot the original painting among a thousand well-done counterfeits.

Tony thanked the doctor, refused the proffered painkillers and followed Gibbs into the elevator.

"You had him in there all night and he didn't crack?" Tony asked with a raised eyebrow as the doors opened and they went to join the rest of the team.

Gibbs gave him a look that would freeze pure alcohol. Tony knew that lesser men had folded under that icy stare, but he continued, outwardly unfazed. "You think he's telling the truth?"

Gibbs actually looked uncertain, and Ziva said, "That man in there is cold. When McGee and I told him about the girl, he barely blinked. Just asked when and where he could pick up the body."

"You're one to judge cold," Tony said without thinking. _Shit, why am I lashing out at my friends?_

Ziva did not allow her face to betray the pain Tony had inflicted. "Whatever. I think all was not right in that house, and I do not have a good feeling about that man."

"We're going to need more than a feeling," McGee said. "We can't hold him on anything since she never said what happened to her, much less who did it."

"Who else could it have been?" Tony asked. "Who else lives in the house?"

"There's a brother," McGee said, mentally reviewing his notes. "Roger's fifteen-year-old son, Ryan, from a previous marriage, but he was obviously devastated by Amie's death. Bennett made us wait until his mother got there to pick him up before we brought him in. He said that Ryan and Amie were very close."

"So it's over," Tony said, sounding utterly defeated. "There's nothing we can do unless he confesses."

He was quiet a moment. "I want to talk to him."

"No way," Gibbs said, giving Tony a stern look. "I can't let you do that."

Tony made a disgusted sound and went to his desk, throwing himself full-force into the long, emotional process of writing his report. He didn't speak to anyone until he was finished. He tossed the report on Gibbs' desk and watched silently as Gibbs stormed past and up to the director's office. A moment later, another agent led a free and clear Roger Bennett to the elevator. Tony could have sworn the smile the man gave him was full of mocking, and it made his blood boil.

Ignoring McGee's call to him, he took the stairs two at a time and arrived in Abby's lab in record time.

"Tony?" Abby said his name slowly, like a question, when she saw the fury in his eyes.

"Tony, calm down," she said, trying to make him stop his frenetic pacing by placing herself directly in his path. If he had been anyone other than Tony, she would have been afraid of the man in front of her, shaking with pure rage.

He stopped, breathing hard as he looked down at his friend. His voice matched his ragged breathing when he said, "I need to get out of here."

"Sure, Tony," she said, her concern fading as she watched him take a couple of deep breaths, visibly calming. "I was about to leave anyway. Movie?"

He shook his head. "I was thinking more along the lines of loud music and cheap beer."

"On a school night?" she asked teasingly. "Naugh-ty!"

He looked momentarily confused, unsure of what day it was. Abby, ever-alert thanks to a couple gallons of Caf-Pow, didn't miss the look. Concerned, she said, "It's Thursday, Tony. Are you okay?"

He surprised both of them by saying, "No, Abby, I'm not okay. I let a girl fall to her death yesterday. A girl that I should have been able to save died because of me. Because I wasn't smart enough to talk her out of it and because I wasn't strong enough to hold on to her. When Ducky did the autopsy on that splattered mess that used to be beautiful girl, he didn't find any signs of abuse, but he did find my skin under her nails and bruises on her wrists from where I hurt her. So, no, Abbs, I'm not okay."

He was disgusted with himself for unloading on his friend, but it was just another in a long line of transgressions against the only people who actually might care about him. He turned to leave, but Abby stopped him, putting her arms around him and latching on when he tried to resist.

"This was not your fault, Tony," she said into his chest. "You were trying to save her, but she couldn't be saved. Only one of you jumped off that roof, and I don't ever want to hear you talking like it was you that died."

Tony let out a shuddering breath against Abby's soft black hair. "Thanks, Abbs."

She pulled back and grinned up at him. "Now let's go dance 'til we collapse."

The smile that came to his face didn't quite match the intensity of hers, but she was glad he had tried.

"Let's see if Ziva and Timmy want to go," Abby said. "We'll get Timmy drunk and see if he'll tell us some crazy MIT stories…"

"They make those?" he asked, actually smiling when she looped an arm around his waist and led him out of the lab.


	5. Chapter 5

The following Monday morning, Tony sat at his desk massaging his temples. He had broken his rules and drank way too much that weekend. It started Thursday night with him, Abby and McGee going out and getting plastered at a great club with fantastic music. Ziva had begged off, claiming she never drank on "school nights." She did join them Friday night, however, when Gibbs let them all off early. The mood was light—if somewhat forced—and Tony was extremely thankful that everyone seemed to be letting him deal in his own way.

He was also thanking the booze gods that he hadn't made an ass of himself by spilling his guts to any of his friends in a drunken stupor. The closest he had come was Sunday night when Abby had joined him at his apartment, showing up on his doorstep with several rented movies and a big bottle of Jack.

He smiled, recalling how she had said that he could pour his heart out to "Uncle Jack" and no one would ever know. His smile faded as he remembered being a hair's breadth away from spilling his guts to Abby about his monster of a father and the beatings he had endured growing up. Apparently, the walls he had built were of superior construction—able to withstand even a barrage of alcohol—and he hadn't said a word to Abby about his painful childhood.

"We've got a body," Gibbs said, watching his agents jump to their feet at his words. He debated for split-second, then said, "DiNozzo, you're staying here."

The whole teamed stared, open-mouthed, as Gibbs walked over to Tony's desk and put a gentle hand on the agent's shoulder. No one in the room had ever heard the tone that accompanied Gibbs' soft words. "It's a suicide, Tony. Girl jumped off a roof. You don't need to put yourself through this."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Gibbs cut him off. "No, Tony. You're staying."

Tony watched his visibly shocked team parade out of the bullpen after a Gibbs none of them recognized.

_Shit, _he thought, _and just when I thought things were getting back to normal._

* * *

Things were definitely _not_ back to normal when the team returned several hours later. Tony had buried himself in a cold case file, and he barely registered their arrival since they were all so quiet. He looked up at the sound of McGee dropping heavily into his chair.

"McGee?" he asked, noting that the younger agent looked much as he had when he left. He looked just as shocked as he had after Gibbs' uncharacteristic burst of gentleness—a topic Tony was _not_ about to broach. He still didn't want to think about it himself. It brought back sharp, pointy memories of the night Kate died.

"You okay, Probie?" he asked, again not getting a reply. He looked at Ziva, who was watching him with her usual intensity.

"What's going on?" Tony asked, thoroughly creeped out.

"She looked just like her," Ziva said, her unsettled voice betraying the mask of calmness she had kept in place all day.

"Like who?" Tony asked, knowing the answer.

"Amie Bennett," Gibbs said, sharing none of his team's unease. "That bastard is playing with us."

"What?" Tony asked. "You think—"

Gibbs cut him off, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "DiNozzo. Did he look familiar? Bennett? You recognize the name?"

Tony shook his head, still unsure what was going on around him.

"Think, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, the intensity in his blue eyes combining with the team's shock to make Tony's skin crawl. "Baltimore? Peoria? Do you remember him?"

"You think this guy whose stepdaughter just killed herself just killed a girl to get to me?" Tony's voice was incredulous. _First Gibbs is being nice, and now he's coming up with a crazy theory like this? _

Ziva spoke, breaking out of her wholly uncharacteristic trance. "You did not see her, Tony," she said softly. "She is a dead banger for Amie."

"Ringer, dead ringer," he corrected automatically, wondering if the whole world was going crazy around him.

"Come with me," Gibbs said. "I can't have you sitting there thinking I've lost it. You know how I feel about coincidences."

Realizing his boss wanted him to go look at the dead girl, Tony held up both hands. "Uh, that's okay, boss. I believe you guys."

"No, Tony, I don't think you do. Believe me," Gibbs said, his tone softening. "I wouldn't make you do this unless I thought it absolutely necessary."

_Here we go with Bizarro Gibbs again, _Tony thought as he got to his feet and joined his team in the elevator.

All were silent as they made their way down into the bowels of the building. Tony had the distinct feeling he was not alone in thinking that they were descending into the depths of hell. Gibbs wished the whole episode had never happened. His team's dynamic was way off without Tony's usual humor. Right now, he should be making some sort of slightly inappropriate gallows humor joke and easing the tension.

Gibbs thought about taking hold of Tony's arm as they entered autopsy, but thought better of it. Tony already thought he was nuts with his theory about Bennett being out to get him. _But damnit, he wasn't there, _Gibbs thought as Tony approached the black body bag as though he expected a zombie to clamber out and begin feasting on Ducky's brain. _He didn't see the girl who looked so familiar lying in a growing pool of her own blood. This is NOT a coincidence. I don't believe in them._

Tony closed the distance between himself and Ducky, who was standing next to the bag, slowly unzipping it. He could feel three pairs of eyes boring into his back as he looked into the medical examiner's kind ones.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Ducky said. "But Gibbs is right. You need to see this. It's uncanny."

The older man pulled back the flap and Tony's breath caught in his throat. He stood there, not breathing as he was suddenly transported back to the rooftop. The dead girl on the table could easily have been Amie. If Tony had walked in on Ducky doing this autopsy, he would have thought the girls were one and the same.

Tony reached out a quivering hand. "May I?"

Ducky nodded, and Tony brushed his fingertips across her face, opening her eyes. He flinched at the coldness of her skin, but then he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Her eyes aren't the same color," he said, not exactly to the team, but they heard him.

Gibbs exchanged a worried look with the medical examiner. "Tony, we never said it _was_ the same girl. Just that they looked alike."

"I know," Tony snapped to cover his embarrassment. It was just so crazy, how similar their features were. "She had a sister?"

"No record of one," McGee answered, glad that Tony's voice had taken on a thoughtful tone and abandoned the haunted one when he commented about the dead girl's eyes. He had worried about Tony all weekend. Sure, the other agent seemed to be just hanging out, drinking and having a good time, but the impostor he had spent most of the weekend with lacked Tony's quick and often biting wit. He had made jokes, but something was definitely off. McGee wondered if Tony had noticed he had noticed.

"Did they know each other?" Tony asked, breaking McGee out of his reverie.

"We could not find any evidence of that," Ziva said. "They went to different schools, lived in different areas. Abby is checking their phone records to see if they had ever called each other, but I doubt she will find anything."

"Right you are, Ziva," Abby said as she bounded into autopsy. "No calls, no emails, no evidence of online chats."

Abby walked up behind Tony, took his arm and turned him from the dead girl, leaving McGee, Ziva and Gibbs all wondering why they had left Tony standing there, staring at her. It was testament to just how badly off-kilter their world was: No one expected Tony to need help.

"I'll let you know what I find, if anything," Ducky said, turning. "I don't expect to find anything, you know. As I said at the scene, there are no bruises, no indication that she was coerced into jumping off that roof."

"How high was it?" Tony asked. "The roof?"

Gibbs answered immediately, proud his agent had thought to ask and glad the man seemed slightly less haunted now that he had something to focus on. "Ten stories. Still think I'm crazy?"

* * *

Later, the team tossed around theories, waiting on Ducky to finish the autopsy and Abby to run tox screens. No one, least of all Tony, could come up with a reason for someone to do this. The girls had nothing in common except the way they died and their incredibly similar features.

Tony was struck by a thought and was unsettled at the eerie familiarity of it. "Why did we get this case?"

Ziva shrugged. "Building she jumped off was Navy-owned."

"And no one saw her go up?" he asked.

"Nope," McGee answered. "Just down."

"Someone saw her fall?"

"Yes," Ziva said. "The witness said she did not see anyone else on the roof with the girl. Just saw the body fall and land—"

McGee cut her off, throwing her an angry look, "I think he gets it."

Tony forced a half-smile onto his face even though Ziva's words had called up images of Amie lying bleeding on the pavement. "Aw, Probie, thanks. But I really don't need you to go all papa-bear on me. It's creepy enough that Gibbs has been—"

"Been what, DiNozzo?" Gibbs snapped from somewhere behind him.

Tony jerked upright. "Uh, nothing boss."

Gibbs leaned down in front of Tony, hands on his desk, face inches from Tony's. "Been what?"

Tony gave a the-hell-with-it shrug. "You've been being nice again, Gibbs, and it weirds me out."

"Well," Gibbs said, suddenly looking tired. "This is going to really 'weird you out.' Ducky found nothing, Abby found nothing, and Bennett's giving up nothing. We. Have. Nothing. Two suicides, cases closed."

"You were interrogating Bennett again?" Tony asked, wondering how he had missed that.

"Ya think it was a really long coffee run, DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked, wondering how Tony had missed that. "No one messes with my agents." He narrowed his blue eyes at Tony. "Without me going all 'papa-bear' on them."

Tony actually blushed.

"Go home," Gibbs said, already halfway to the elevator. "All of you."

Once the elevator doors closed, Ziva, McGee and Tony all started talking at once. Tony held up a hand.

"Yeah, I think all agree we just saw Gibbs admit a coincidence."

"Creepy," McGee mumbled, gathering his things.

"Never thought it would happen," Ziva said, retrieving her keys.

They both turned to see Tony still sitting at his desk.

"You had better leave with us," Ziva said.

"Yeah," McGee agreed. "He'll know if you don't."

"Without even checking the cameras, I bet," Tony agreed and followed his team to the elevator, still thoroughly disturbed—but content in the knowledge that some things never changed.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the week passed by quickly since the team caught a whirlwind case complete with a kidnapping, terrorists and a last-minute hostage rescue. The case had kept them in the office or out in the field almost nonstop so after the raid Friday night, they all were ready to drop.

Tony had known all week that his team—his friends—had been watching him, looking closely for telltale signs of strain, but he was sure he had done a good job of not letting his pain show. Truth be told, he was feeling fractionally better every day. The mask had settled back into place and it didn't take nearly as much effort to keep it there, and that was good. He knew Ducky would not agree, but he didn't have the energy to care. He wanted to go home.

Gibbs gathered his things and called out, "Home. All of you. I don't want to see any of you until Monday." He looked at DiNozzo specifically when he said it. He had been watching the agent all week and saw the young man rebuilding his walls. Sure, DiNozzo had been smiling more this week, but the smiles carried a sadness Gibbs had never seen before in his agent. He vowed to talk to him. But it could wait. They were all dog-tired, and Gibbs knew he would need to be alert to try to get through to Tony and maybe get him to talk.

Gibbs watched Ziva and McGee board the elevator and glared at Tony until he put down the pen in his hand and got up from his desk. Gibbs stopped himself from putting a hand on Tony's shoulder, but he did allow his voice to go soft when he said, "Whatever it is, it can wait. You need some rest."

Tony just looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face as he joined his boss in the elevator. Tony was so tired he could barely think.

"And make sure you clean that wound," Gibbs said, going for broke when he saw that Tony was probably too tired to protest. "You've had the same dressing on it for two days."

"Sure, boss," Tony said, yawning. "And I'm fine to drive, before you ask. Are you?"

The yawn was contagious, but Gibbs said around it, "Yeah, Tony. I'm good."

* * *

Tony was so exhausted driving home that he turned the air conditioning up to high despite the chill of the September evening. He cranked the music up to a level that would have distracted Abby just to try to stay awake. A flicker of worry flashed through his sleep-deprived brain and he wondered if the team had gotten home all right. _Ha, Ziva and Gibbs don't need my worrying, but McProbie… well maybe. But then again, he'd probably stayed up pulling all-nighters at MIT or just playing his crazy online—_

The ringing of his phone took a second to penetrate his exhausted, rambling thoughts.

"DiNozzo."

No answer.

"Hello? If you're gonna prank call me, you'd better at least do some heavy breathing or something. This isn't very scary."

"Tim?" A very small, very frightened voice came over the line. "I need Agent McGee. He said I could call him. Who is this?"

Tony's tiredness made it hard for him to think. Why had McGee given some kid his number? He suddenly remembered that his and McGee's government-issue cells were one number off. Either McGee had written it down wrong or the kid had misdialed. Tony would have hung up if it hadn't been an obviously scared child calling.

"My name is Tony," he said, turning onto his street but not pulling up to the garage. "I work with Agent McGee. He's my friend. What's wrong? Who is this?"

"My name is Ryan. Agent McGee said to call if I needed him, and I … I need him." The kid started sobbing into the phone as Tony struggled to remember where he had heard that name recently.

"What's wrong, Ryan? Tell me what happened." Tony scanned their latest cases but couldn't come up with a small child named Ryan.

"My sister is dead and he hurt me," the kid cried in anguish.

Tony stopped breathing.

Amie.

McGee's voice floated back to him, _fifteen-year-old stepbrother, Ryan…_

Tony cursed McGee—or the kid—for getting the number wrong. This made two crazy twists of fate, first Amie and her Navy T-shirt, now her brother and his clumsy fingers. Tony suddenly couldn't help but think that he was meant to help this boy. He hadn't been able to save the girl, but the boy… The boy sounded so young and helpless.

"_She went to heaven and I went to hell."_

_Had Ducky missed something? Was the father abusing both kids? Was he hurting only the boy and she felt powerless to stop it? Had it been guilt that drove her to that rooftop?_

Tony pushed aside the questions raging through his suddenly alert mind. "Where are you?"

The boy sniffled. "Metro station. I can't drive but I knew I could get just about anywhere from here. Tim—Agent McGee—said he would be there anytime I needed to talk. Maybe I should call him."

Tony smiled in the darkness at McGee's apparent kindness toward a boy he didn't even know. "No, it's okay. I can help you." He gave the boy directions to his home and pulled his car into the garage. As he made his way to his apartment, he fought the urge to go pick the boy up from the station, but he needed coffee so he didn't fall asleep.

He was just pouring a second cup when he heard a soft knock. He went to the door, wholly unprepared for the sight that greeted him. The boy was fifteen but small for his age. This wasn't what nearly brought Tony to his knees, though, because he had already been picturing a much younger child from the pitiful voice on the phone. What struck Tony with the force of a freight train was the boy's condition: He had been beaten bloody. It was like staring at a mirror of his own horrific childhood.

Tony pushed away the memories as he ushered the boy into his home and straight to the bathroom without a word. He rummaged for first-aid supplies and was reminded, oddly, of Abby doing the same for him just a scant few nights ago. He grabbed a washcloth and dampened it slightly.

The boy sat, watching Tony with eyes that had seen too much, eyes that Tony had seen staring back at himself a hundred times after his mother was gone and no one was there to clean his wounds but himself. _Stop, _he thought. _I have to help him._

"I'm going to clean the blood off your face," Tony said gently. "Close your eyes for me?"

Tony softly wiped the half-dried blood from the boy's face, revealing dark bruises underneath. The agent tamped down his rising fury at the man who had done this. He couldn't let the boy see his rage lest he misinterpret it. _Relax. Don't scare him._

"Who did this to you?" he asked softly when he was finished cleaning off most of the blood.

The boy sniffled, wincing at the pain and stabbing a knife through Tony's already aching heart. He was going to make this fucker bleed for what he had done.

"My dad."

Those two words sent Tony reeling backward a good twenty or so years.

"_Dad, please," a young Tony begged, cowering in a corner of his once-beloved barn. _

_He never came out here anymore, not since finding her here that day. He had already puked once from the smell of the hay, as soon as his father shoved him through the door, his arm wrenched painfully up behind his back. _

"_It's been a year, you little shit," his father said, "and look at you, still heaving and crying like it was yesterday. She's gone and she's never coming back and it's all your fault. Stop crying. Now!"_

_The vicious kick to his ribs left him gasping and he curled into the fetal position, trying to protect himself. _

The remembered pain of those bruised ribs snapped Tony back to the present, and he moved closer to the boy in front of him, willing himself to concentrate.

Ryan Bennett flinched away from him when he raised his hands to lift the boy's shirt and look for other injuries.

"Okay, hey," he said soothingly. At least he hoped it sounded soothing. God, he was tired. "I just need to make sure you're not hurt anywhere else."

"I don't want you to," the boy said, eyes downcast.

Tony read his tone as shamed, and he said, his heart breaking all over again for the kid, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. This isn't your fault. But I do need to know that you're going to be okay. Let me take you to a hospital."

Some dark emotion flashed in the boy's eyes and he jumped up away from Tony. "No! Where's Agent McGee? Tim said he would help me. I should have gone to him. He wouldn't make me go there!"

Tony closed his eyes, still kneeling on the floor. "I'm a federal agent, Ryan. I'm not going to hurt you, but I can't let you stay here if I don't know the status of your condition. That means you have to either let me take a look at you or you have to let an ER doctor do it. I'm sorry."

Something Tony said put a little light back in the boy's eyes. Tony chalked it up to someone giving a damn about him, and he was grateful when the boy lifted his shirt and allowed Tony to check him for injuries. Tony put gentle hands on the boy's ribs, which were bruised nearly from hip to shoulder on his right side.

_Young Tony lay on his back in the elegant mansion's boathouse, watching one of the gardeners approach him with something in his hands. Tony couldn't make out the object through his bleary eyes that had swollen to slits. His jaw, ribs and left wrist throbbed in time with the beating of his heart. He hissed in pain when the kind man gently placed the ice pack against the bruises staining the delicate arch of his ribcage. _

_He couldn't help the shriek that erupted from his bleeding lips when the man's probing hands found a broken rib. His bit off his scream, knowing what his father would do to him if he caught him shrieking like a girl and crying. _DiNozzos don't cry.

"_It's okay, little Anthony," the man said. "You scream your head off if it helps. Do what you need to do, son. No one deserves this treatment. I'm going to make sure this never happens again."_

"_I think you're confused, old man," a voice boomed behind the gardener. Tony's hand shot out reflexively and took hold of the man's pants. It was his injured left wrist, though, and he gasped as pain shot through his fingers and up his wrist. _

_He felt a comforting hand on the stinging joint as the man turned, squaring his shoulders to Tony's bear of a father. He felt rather than heard his father's approach._

"_Don't," Tony whispered to the man protecting him. "He'll kill you."_

"_I am not afraid, little Anthony."_

"_You should be," his father growled. _

_Tony felt the man's hand being ripped away from his and he started to stand, not wanting this kind man to be hurt because of him. Tony knew his scream of weakness had called forth his father, and he couldn't bear the thought of the only man who had ever helped him paying for his mistake._

_Tony watched through the slits of his eyes as the man was dragged from the boathouse by one of his father's bodyguards. He curled into a ball, trying to protect his damaged body from his father, who came and stood in front of him._

"_Get up, weakling."_

_Tony stood, swaying slightly on his feet. It took only one punch to knock him out cold. As his head hit the salty, damp concrete floor, just before he lost consciousness, he heard his father's voice._

"_You are my son. You belong to me, and me only."_

_Tony never saw the gardener again. He never went to any of his father's staff for help, either. He learned to hide his injuries and take care of them himself. He never allowed himself to need comfort: He couldn't stand the thought of ending another life._

Tony finished looking Ryan over for injuries and found only the damage to his face and side. Tony settled the boy into his bed and went to the couch to sleep. He was out before his head hit the pillow, but he awoke several times during the night. Cursing his weakness, he told himself it wasn't the nightmares that kept him up. He had almost convinced himself by 5:30 a.m. that he was just up so he could keep an eye on the boy, who slept so soundly Tony found himself putting a hand on the kid's chest to make sure he was still breathing.

When the boy still wasn't up at nearly 9 the next morning, Tony picked up his cell and called the only person he could. He quickly gave the other man the situation and hung up the phone.

* * *

The knock at his door came more quickly than he had expected, jerking him out of the half sleep he had found on his couch. He got up, crossing the room stiffly, rolling his neck to get the kinks out. He opened the door and gave the man waiting a genuine smile of relief. He was glad he wouldn't have to deal with this alone.

"Ducky, thank you for coming."

"Of course, Anthony. Where is the boy?"

Tony led him to the bedroom and went back to the couch, ostensibly to give them some privacy. The truth was, however, that he was exhausted and needed to sleep. He finally felt able to, now that the boy was in Ducky's capable hands.

Ducky left the injured boy to sleep after examining him and went to find his other charge. Ducky stood watching Tony sleep for a few minutes, letting his thoughts wander. The man lying in front of him was a mystery most of the time. Ducky knew his outward personality was mostly an act, and it was much harder to discern the real man beneath the antics. With his training in forensic psychology, though, Ducky figured he knew Tony better than most. He had caught Tony in several unguarded moments, when the agent thought no one was looking, and Ducky saw the pain in his eyes that spoke to the suffering he had endured. Ducky had always suspected an abusive father, but the suicide of his mother and horror of finding her body could definitely account for the sorrow Tony so rarely expressed. Ducky had tried to get him to talk several times over the years, but Tony always shut down immediately and reverted back to the fun-loving, goofy cover identity. It wasn't healthy to suppress such strong emotions, and Ducky wondered if—or more like when—Tony would break.

He had looked close to doing so when he opened the door an hour ago. Ducky was barely able to hide his shock at Tony's appearance. The man looked exhausted, which was to be expected given the week they had all had. But Ducky had not been expecting the haunted, damaged look in his eyes and it made him wonder if he had been right about the abuse. Seeing the condition of the boy, Ducky immediately connected the dots and knew: Tony's childhood had been even more horrific than any of them had ever guessed.

Ducky looked at the dirty bandage on Tony's wrist, wondering if the stitches he had put in were ready to come out. He'd have to ask Tony to look at it later.

"Hey, quit looking at me like I'm one of your corpses," Tony said, startling the older man out of his reverie.

Ducky smiled—sadly, it seemed to Tony. "My apologies, Anthony. I'm surprised you're awake. You need to sleep."

"Can't," Tony admitted. "I need to call social services." He sighed, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face. "And Gibbs."

Tony yawned. "How is the boy?"

Ducky frowned, but said, "Bruised but otherwise okay."

"That's a short answer," Tony said, eyeing the usually long-winded doctor suspiciously.

"Tony," Ducky began, his eyes hardening as he decided to just come out and say what was on his mind. "I don't think you need to hear the particulars, but if you must know, the boy was beaten, probably kicked in the ribs multiple times. I doubt there are fractures, but he's going to be quite sore for the next week or so. The bruises on his face are more consistent with being slammed face-first into a wall than with being punched, although I'd like to see the stepfather's hands to check for damage. He—or whoever did it—was obviously trying to hurt the boy, not kill him."

Tony's face had drained of what little color remained after a sleepless night, and he turned away from the doctor, wondering what the hell was going on with the normally gentle man. This was twice his harsh words had cut Tony deeply.

Ducky saw Tony's pained reaction and immediately regretted his harshness. If only Tony could see that he was just trying to help, to get him to talk…

Ducky's voice came out softly when he said, "Anthony, you mustn't do this to yourself. Why didn't you call me last night? Why put yourself through this hell when it's quite obvious that it's bringing back bad memories for you."

"_Stop. Don't open your old wounds for me." _Tony heard Amie's voice as he whipped around, facing the doctor. A realization struck him. _He's pushing me so I'll break down and talk to him._ _Fat chance._

"What happened with Amie is over," he said, deliberating misunderstanding.

Ducky sighed, knowing Tony was faking, pulling out one painful memory to cover another deeper anguish. "We both know that's not what I'm talking about."

Tony was surprised at the doctor's words, expecting to be let off the hook.

Both men were surprised when Tony said, "My father beat me." There was a short silence, Ducky amazed Tony had made the admission and Tony amazed that he had said it. "I've been that kid in there," Tony continued, pointing to his bedroom, "but I'm not a kid anymore, and I'll do everything—anything—I have to to make sure that bastard never touches him again."

Ducky crossed the room and put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Anthony. You need to get this out so that you can move on and heal. I—"

"Ducky," Tony said, gently cutting him off. "I know you care about me and I really appreciate it, but I really need to make some phone calls."

Ducky frowned as he watched the agent shut down. He had said all he was going to say, and Ducky knew Tony would soon begin regretting his words. He only hoped it wouldn't make things worse.

Ducky nodded. "Shall I stay until social services gets here, or would you like me to go?"

Tony closed his eyes in pain at the stiff note in the doctor's voice. He was so tired he wanted to just lie down and cry. "Ducky, I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. "I'm sorry, but I can't talk about it right now. I just can't."

The doctor softened, hearing the pain and tiredness Tony was so desperately trying not to reveal. "Don't worry about it, my dear boy. I, too, am sorry. You don't need anyone pushing you right now."

Tony bristled inside, hating that the doctor thought he was weak and needed to be coddled. He just smiled, though, and picked up the phone.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony hung up the phone after a short conversation updating Gibbs on the situation. He was just snapping the phone shut when a sharp cry came from the hallway.

"You called social services?" Ryan screamed, his face red, tears streaming down his battered face.

Both Ducky and Tony looked up. Tony said, "I had to, buddy. We need to get the case started against your father so you'll be safe."

Tony had been approaching the boy slowly, but when he reached out to touch the trembling teenager, Ryan whirled away from him. "No! Don't touch me! Why did you have to call them? I want to stay with you."

"Ryan," Ducky began, but was cut off by a shriek from Ryan, who threw himself against the nearest wall, pounding his fists against it.

Tony crossed the room in a split second, wrapping strong arms around the boy and pinning his arms against his sides. Tony thought about all the holes he had punched in walls in his lifetime and was grief-stricken that this boy's life would probably hold the same pain. Tony stayed kneeling on the floor, hating himself because he knew he was hurting the small boy that thrashed in his arms.

"Stop," Tony murmured against Ryan's hair. "Please. I can't let you hurt yourself. Please. Stop. Calm down, Ryan."

The boy finally stopped struggling. He turned in Tony's arms and buried his face in the agent's chest. Great sobs wracked his body as he cried, and Tony shook with his own struggle to stay composed. Tony's eyes met Ducky's over the boy's shoulder, mirroring each other's concern.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Tony sat bolt upright in an uncomfortable plastic chair in a nondescript social services office.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Gibbs said, settling beside his obviously tired agent.

"Didn't mean to fall asleep, Boss," Tony said, enviously eyeing Gibbs' ever-present coffee cup.

Gibbs saw the look and handed over the cup, smiling when Tony made a face and said, "I'm not that desperate."

Gibbs removed the lid and held the cup in front of DiNozzo's face, letting him smell the hazelnut creamer he'd added. Tony gave him a tired smile and accepted the cup. Gibbs looked over the agent as he drank, noting his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes and wondering if he'd gotten any sleep the night before. After the week they'd had, the last thing any of them had needed was another sleepless night.

"Any luck breaking Bennett?" Tony asked, throwing a sidelong glance at his boss and wondering what kind of man Bennett must be to have not broken under Gibbs' glare.

Gibbs shook his head. "He's not admitting anything. Says he has no idea what happened to Ryan, just that he was home all night watching TV while Ryan was in his room. When I picked him up after you called, he claims he didn't know Ryan was gone."

"You believe him?" Tony asked.

Gibbs sighed in frustration. "I don't know, honestly. Either I can't read this guy or he's a damned good liar."

"You can read everybody," Tony said softly. _Even me?_

_Not you, _Gibbs thought, but he said, "No bruises on his hands."

Tony made a sound of disgust and said absently, "You can beat the crap out of someone without using your fists."

_Shit, why did I just say that?_ Tony thought. _When are you ever going to learn to shut up, DiNozzo?_

Tony watched Gibbs give him one of those creepy concerned looks and wondered if Ducky had told him what Tony had admitted.

Gibbs saw terror bloom in Tony's eyes for a fraction of a second and wondered at its origin, but he didn't say anything. He wondered if he should, but Tony had seemed more upset by his rare showings of concern so he let it go. One of these days, he was going to have a talk with his senior agent whether either of them liked it or not.

"—But then Ducky did say that the bruises look more like someone pushed him into a wall than being punched so that would make sense. Gibbs?" Tony asked, seeing the faraway look in his boss's eyes and wondering again if Ducky had betrayed his confidence.

"Yeah, I heard you." Another sigh from the usually stoic Gibbs. "There's something about this case… these cases…"

"Something hinky?" Tony asked, and Gibbs was glad to see at least a half-smile on his face.

"Yeah," Gibbs said with a half-smile of his own.

"His mother is taking forever to get here," Tony commented.

"After the divorce, she moved to Richmond," Gibbs said. "Traffic on 95 on a Saturday can be a bitch."

"Agent DiNozzo?" the social worker who had been interviewing Ryan entered the room.

"Yes?"

The woman eyed Gibbs, looking nervous and upset. There was frustration in her voice when she said, "Ryan has recanted the statement he made to you. He says his father never touched him."

DiNozzo was on his feet in an instant. "Let me talk to him."

"It won't do any good. We've explained that we can protect him, but he's not budging," she said.

"You don't need his statement. It's a domestic violence case," DiNozzo said, barely able to contain his rage. The boy's father must really have drilled it into his head that he was never to talk. Tony thought about all of the threats his own father had made against him.

_I'll kill you, boy. Now go tell that meddling bitch that you got in a fight at school._

"Usually, that would be the case," she said, shaking her head. "But he claims he got beat up by a boy at school, and until the police sort it out and a judge signs off on it, I can't remove him from the home. Especially not when I can release him to his mother."

"At least let me talk to him until his mother gets here?" Tony said, sounding defeated.

"Sure, go on back," she said, pointing to a door behind the main desk. "Lisa will show you to the interview room."

Gibbs watched DiNozzo walk away, and he wondered why his agent was taking this case so personally. He knew the events on the rooftop had resonated deeply, but he also wondered if maybe the abuse the boy had suffered also struck a chord with Tony. Ducky had once hinted years ago that he believed DiNozzo had been the victim of childhood abuse, but Gibbs had brushed it off, finding it hard to think of Tony as a victim of anything. Now, he wasn't so sure. He really needed to get DiNozzo alone for that talk.

Turning back to the social worker, Gibbs asked, "How long ago did you call the mother?"

She checked her watch and was obviously surprised by the time. "Almost three hours ago. Even with traffic…"

Gibbs frowned hard, his gut screaming at him that something wasn't right.

* * *

Tony sat down across from Ryan and tried not to focus on the boy's bruised face.

"I don't want to talk to you," Ryan said, but Tony had a feeling he was lying. It seemed the kid wanted someone to listen, someone to confide in.

"Ryan, listen to me," Tony said, his voice urgent. "You have to tell them what happened to you. It's the only way they can punish your father and keep him away from you. If you recant your statement, we may not be able to arrest him and he could do this to you again. Ryan, please. I need to know that you're going to be okay."

Tony watched the emotions flicking across Ryan's face and cursed his exhaustion because he couldn't quite read the boy.

* * *

Gibbs flipped open his cell and called Richmond PD, giving them the mother's name and address. He also heeded his gut and told them to put a BOLO out on her car.

Something was not right, and he was damned sure going to get to the bottom of it all.

* * *

Ryan didn't speak. Nothing Tony said got even a nod of the head, much less actual words. He finally gave up, standing and going to the door, he said, "Ryan, please think about what you're doing."

He closed the door and went to meet Gibbs in the lobby, thinking about going home and crashing for a few hours. He was so tired his eyes felt like they had sand in them. He knew that if the boy wouldn't talk, there was nothing they could do. It was a pattern that he wasn't used to and that he didn't care for at all. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget Ryan and instantly knew that, like Amie, the boy would forever be a part of him—just another child he couldn't help. He wanted to scream in frustration as he met Gibbs in the lobby. His own emotional state precluded him from noticing his boss's anger.

"I just got two very interesting phone calls, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, regretting that he was about to interfere with his agent's getting the rest he so obviously needed.

"What's up, Boss?" Tony asked warily.

Gibbs started for the door. "I had Richmond PD visit the mother's house and put out a BOLO on her car on a hunch. Home was empty, but they found her car in the garage. Nobody saw her leave. And the director just called," he watched Tony closely for a reaction, "another girl just 'jumped' off a roof. Eighteen-year-old petty officer, small frame, dark hair."

Tony's eyes went wide with shock and he drew the only logical conclusion his sleep-deprived brain could. "You were right. Bennett's toying with us. He killed the lookalike and now he's killed again. Maybe twice. The mother…"

"Is missing," Gibbs said, about to get in his car. "Not dead."

"Wait, Gibbs," Tony said, looking back at the building. "We should interview the person who last spoke to the mother—the social worker."

Gibbs smiled, amazed at his agent's ability to think on his feet—even when he was practically dead on his feet.

Back inside, the social worker was looking at her feet when she said, "Well, I didn't actually speak with her, Agent Gibbs. I would have—it's procedure—but as soon as she picked up and said hello, Ryan grabbed the phone and began crying. I thought it would do him some good to talk to her so I let him give her the address and have some time with her. It obviously helped because he calmed down quite a bit after speaking with her."

DiNozzo thanked the woman and followed Gibbs back to the parking lot. Tony approached his car and said, "I'll follow you back to the office, Boss, but I'm going to stop for some coffee. You want anything?"

Gibbs looked hard at him before saying, "Skip the coffee, DiNozzo. Go home and get some sleep. McGee and Ziva can handle the crime scene on the roof—ten stories up, again—and I'll head to Richmond. The local PD is already running the house since it's not our jurisdiction anyway."

Tony shook his head fiercely. "No, Boss. I'm going with you. I won't be able to sleep anyway."

Gibbs looked past the exhaustion in his agent's eyes and saw the fire in them. He decided that maybe it was better if Tony could focus that burning intensity on the case instead of his own issues, and he relented. "We'll drop your car off at the yard since it's only a few blocks from here anyway. No way I'm letting you drive all the way the Richmond," he added gruffly.

"Thanks, Boss."

* * *

"This is crazy," Ziva declared as she took Tony's usual job of snapping photos at the crime scene.

"I know," McGee said as he undertook the laborious task of picking up every stray hair and scrap of garbage he could find. "I mean, this is a rooftop. There's all kinds of crap up here. How am I supposed to find every piece of possible evidence like Gibbs demanded?"

Ziva shot him a look. "That is not what I mean. I mean that it is crazy to think that someone could hate Tony enough to kill two strangers just to get to him. Tony does not even know these girls. Why not kill people close to Tony?"

"Well," McGee said, tweezing a piece of an envelope into an evidence bag, "because that would be us, Ziva, and we're federal agents. Not so easy to kill."

"Tony is close to people other than…" Ziva began, actually thinking about it. "Well, I mean…"

"See?" McGee asked. "He goes through women like water and his family… Well, I gather they're not the warm and fuzzy types, to say the least."

"I never really thought about it before," she said, a frown tugging at her pretty features. "It is sad, really. I wonder what this person thinks Tony did to deserve this."

McGee didn't speak, a thought hovering at the edge of his consciousness. He looked up at Ziva suddenly.

"Ziva," he said, his eyes lighting up as they always did when he came to a brilliant conclusion. "It's not about Tony. We assumed it was because he was the one with Amie and because he was affected so much by it, but it wasn't about him. No one killed Amie and whoever killed the second victim couldn't have known how much it hurt him. No one could have known that Gibbs would send Tony up to try to talk Amie down, either. We didn't know Tony's mother killed herself and you just said it. We're the closest friends he has. I gotta call Gibbs. We've been thinking about this all wrong."

"And now," Ziva said, snapping another photo, "we have no motive."

* * *

Gibbs spoke softly on the phone to McGee, not wanting to wake DiNozzo, who slept soundly in the passenger seat beside him.

"That's good work, McGee," Gibbs said after listening to the agent's logic. "Now get that evidence back to Abby and call me when Ducky's through with the autopsy. And try to track down a link between the two victims and Bennett."

Gibbs hung up the phone, proud of McGee for seeing what he hadn't. Gibbs had been so wrapped up in Tony's mental state that he hadn't realized the faulty conclusion he'd reached. He tamped down his rising guilt, sliding a glance at DiNozzo.

He realized his lips were moving and his eyes were darting back and forth beneath his lids.

_Nightmare?_ Gibbs wondered, trying to read the agent's lips and focus enough on the road to not kill them both.

Gibbs picked up on only one word: _Please. _He wanted to wake his senior agent and talk to him, but he knew DiNozzo needed the rest. His answers would have to wait.


	8. Chapter 8

The team, including Abby, Ducky and Palmer, converged in the bullpen around midnight that night. Everyone was chowing down on takeout food Palmer had brought for them—everyone except Tony, Gibbs noted with concern. He didn't call his senior agent on it, though, not wanting to put him on the spot in front of everyone and knowing he would brush it off and probably be upset by the show of concern.

Ducky sipped his tea, then said, "Mr. Palmer and I have gone over both victims multiple times. There are no bruises consistent with restraints, no skin under the nails, no blows to the head."

"Except from the pavement," Tony said darkly, drawing looks from the entire team. "Sorry," he mumbled, his thoughts still on the dream he had had while in the car with Gibbs. He could still hear himself pleading with Amie to not jump, could still see her falling, could still feel her nails grating his skin. He looked down at the gouges that he had not bothered to cover after Ducky insisted on looking at them earlier. The stitches were not ready to come out, but Tony was sick of looking like an invalid.

"No drugs in either girls' system to suggest coercion," Abby was saying. "I went over every scrap, hair and fiber that Tim brought from the roof, nothing out of the ordinary."

"We have been over the photos," Ziva said. "Nothing there. Interviews from the families and friends reveal no links between the victims. And no links between Amie and the victims, and no links between Bennett and the victims."

"Nothing on their cell phones or computers show any of them knew other," McGee said. "I even cross-referenced the locations of their cell calls to see if they were ever in the same place at the same time and nothing."

"Bennett's not breaking. Swears he's innocent," Gibbs said. "I spent all afternoon with him after DC Metro turned him over. They couldn't get anything out of him and are still investigating the boy Ryan said beat him up."

"That won't go anywhere," Tony said, shoving away his untouched food.

Gibbs ignored his words but not the gesture. A DiNozzo who wouldn't eat was a DiNozzo that definitely was not okay. "And Richmond PD didn't turn up anything at the mother's house, no hairs, no fibers that don't belong."

"Bet they found plenty of evidence of Bennett's being there," Tony said.

"Yeah," Gibbs said, "but he's been there to pick up and drop off the boy. And the mother is just missing as of right now." He paused. "Instead of concentrating on what we _don't_ have, let's look at what we _do_ have."

"Everything starts with Amie's death," Ziva said. "Then the lookalike is killed. Bennett beats his son. Mother goes missing a day later, sometime after the boy speaks with her. Second victim goes off the roof today, also. Bennett has no alibi, but also no evidence he beat his son."

"Why are we looking at this like everything's linked?" Tony asked. Gibbs was glad he was contributing something useful to the conversation, but he was also disturbed to see the dullness in the agent's eyes. There was none of the usual glint present during the thrill of the hunt. "Like McGee said, Bennett's not out to get me, or any of us. There are easier ways."

"But everything started with Amie," Ziva said again. "The lookalike makes no sense if Bennett is not involved. He chose her because she looked like Amie."

Ignoring the stab of pain hearing her name brought, Tony said, "How many people watched her d—watched her jump, live on TV? We're assuming these killings are related to the Bennett family drama when it could actually be two separate cases."

"Are you saying the suicides are suicides and Bennett killed his wife after beating his son?" Palmer asked.

Tony shook his head. "The suicides are definitely murders. All similar in appearance, build… the ten-story buildings… too much coincidence."

Gibbs nodded approvingly, happy to see at least some vestige of the old Tony.

"But it definitely could have been someone who saw the, uh, original suicide," McGee said, sliding a nervous glance at Tony, who ignored him. "And then they decided to start killing… But why?"

No one had an answer.

"We focus all our efforts on the serial killer," Gibbs ordered as Tony picked up a ringing phone. "Until we know the status of the mother, we put that case on the back burner. McGee and Abby, you two go over the footage of the crowd from the day Amie Bennett died. See if anyone looks unusually interested. Ziva, find out everything you can about these two victims. Everything!"

"Boss," Tony said softly, setting down the phone. Gibbs didn't think it possible for the agent to have gotten any paler, but his face was bone-white when he said, "Just got your status on the mother. Mechanicsville PD found her body in the woods off Pole Green Road. She was strangled."

No one spoke until Tony said, "I'm going to go tell Ryan."

Gibbs shook his head, thinking about the boy who had been beaten by his father, waiting in foster care for a mother that would never come. "You sure you're up to it, DiNozzo?"

Tony rubbed his hands over his face tiredly and admitted, "No. But he at least knows me. This shouldn't come from a complete stranger."

"I'll go with you, Tony," Ducky offered. "He knows me, too." _And this isn't going to be easy for you, my dear boy._ "Palmer, you go with Jethro and pick up the body."

Everyone scattered to begin his or her assigned duties, not one of them even thinking about protesting the late hour. There was a serial killer out there and a boy in pain. There was work to be done.

* * *

Tony approached the foster family's home with Ducky at his side. He was grateful for the older man's presence. He felt calmer and more ready to tell the poor kid who still bore bruises from his father's beating that his mother was dead. Tony couldn't help but make the connections between his own life and Ryan's. They had both lost mothers and been left with monsters for fathers. Tony shook off the memories, wiping a hand across his face to rid himself of the ghostly vision of his dead mother in the long white dress.

Ducky noticed the gesture and said gently, "Anthony, you don't have to do this. I'll tell the boy of his mother's passing."

"I can't. I mean I have to," Tony said, cursing his weakness and exhaustion. One of these nights he was going to have to get some sleep. The nap in the car had helped, but he had awoken embarrassed and tense from the awful dream. He was thankful that he hadn't woken up screaming, as he did so many nights. _Try explaining _that _to Gibbs, _he thought.

"Really, Ducky, I'll be fine."

"At least you are not insisting that you _are _fine," Ducky said with a smile, patting Tony's arm. "And I have no doubt that you will, indeed, be fine."

Tony knocked on the door, wondering if the occupants were all asleep at nearly 2 a.m.

_Apparently not_, he thought as he heard feet on the stairs and the door opened. A teenage girl opened the door and looked out curiously at them. Tony flinched at her appearance. _Am I going to feel like this every time I see a teenager with dark hair? _

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," Tony said, flashing his badge.

The girl smiled brightly. "Ryan told me about you. He said you helped him after he, uh, got hurt. He seemed to think you're pretty cool."

Tony noticed her hesitation. "Did Ryan tell you what happened?"

She shook her head, opening the door wider to let them in. "He's upstairs, asleep in the extra bedroom. I can go get him. Are you taking him away?"

Tony gave the girl a smile. "No, we just need to talk to him. Are your parents awake?"

She paused on the stairs. "I'll get them, too."

Ducky gave Tony another look as the girl scampered upstairs. The man needed sleep, and Ducky resolved to make sure he got some after the unpleasantness to come. "I can tell him."

Tony shook his head, looking up at the stairway and frowning as he heard someone yelling Ryan's name. Tony half-shoved Ducky down the hallway and drew his gun. He didn't like the tone of the yells from upstairs. He crept halfway up the stairs and called out a hello. He trained his gun on the sudden shadow above him and was greeted with a scream.

"Crap!" the girl yelped. "It's just me."

Tony lowered his weapon. "What's going on up there?"

The girl's lower lip shook and she bit it to stop the trembling. "He's gone. Ryan's gone."


	9. Chapter 9

"Yeah, Gibbs," he said into the cell phone as he watched Palmer load the body into the truck. The overworked local ME had been happy to hand over the body to the feds, and Gibbs had persuaded the cops to let him run the crime scene personally. Gibbs was used to getting what he wanted.

"Boss, Ryan's missing," Tony said, sounding utterly defeated.

Gibbs actually winced at the tone of his agent's voice. He wanted the old Tony back and wondered at the same time just how the hell DiNozzo had managed to keep up the façade as long as he had. Until a week ago, DiNozzo had had everyone fooled into thinking he was a somewhat shallow party boy without a care in the world. Gibbs wondered again just how long Tony had been wearing a mask to hide his pain. Considering how adept he was at it, it must have been a damned long time, Gibbs thought.

"—I should have been watching him," DiNozzo was saying. "That bastard has him, I know it. How could I let this happen?"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked more harshly than he'd intended. He couldn't stand to hear his normally confident agent sliding deeper into the miasma of self-loathing. He forced his voice softer. "Tony, this isn't your fault. Just tell me what happened."

"The foster family said he went to bed around midnight," Tony said, his voice ragged with exhaustion and a thousand other emotions Gibbs couldn't quite differentiate. He tried to concentrate on the facts and not his suffering agent. "Ducky and I got here around 2. Liz, the foster parents' daughter, said she hadn't gone to bed yet and never heard anything. She looked in his room when we got here and he was gone."

"He could have left on his own," Gibbs said. "The kid's going through a lot right now. Maybe he just wanted to be alone."

The silence that hummed along the phone line told Gibbs his theory wouldn't pan out.

Tony finally spoke and Gibbs could have sworn he heard a catch in his voice when he said, "There's blood, Boss. Overturned chair, broken mirror."

"And the girl didn't hear anything?" Gibbs asked.

"She was listening to music. From the sound of it when we knocked, she has Abby's taste."

"Dammit," Gibbs hissed.

Ducky took his eyes off the road for a second and saw Tony flinch at whatever Gibbs had said.

"Give me Ducky," Gibbs said, and Tony handed over the phone.

"Yes, Jethro?"

"Take him home, Duck. Make sure he gets some sleep. Drug him if you have to."

Ducky nodded in the affirmative, knowing Gibbs had already hung up.

_Guess I won't have to resort to drugs, _the doctor thought, looking over at his sleeping passenger.

* * *

Gibbs entered the squad room and half-smiled at his team. McGee sat with his back against his desk, facing the TV footage playing on the plasma. Abby rested against his side, her dark head on his shoulder. Ziva slept with her head resting on crossed arms on her desk, a police report displayed on her monitor. He checked his watch, the display reading 0730, and went to get coffee.

When he returned, Ziva was up, staring out the window into the early morning light.

"Ziva," Gibbs said softly, handing her a cup of tea.

She smiled as she accepted the cup. "Thank you."

He nodded as he turned, seeing McGee disentangling himself from Abby, who roused also.

"Morning, kids," he said, glad they had gotten some sleep even though he would never say it.

Abby grumbled and McGee said, "Sorry, Boss. I guess we, uh…" He blinked. "We found out that Bennett's car has an EZPass tag for the Dulles Toll Road. We tracked it and he never left the District this weekend. But, there was a car stolen from his street Thursday night. He could have stolen the car and driven down to Richmond to kill the mother."

"Well, not quite, McGee," Ziva said, looking at her monitor. "Local PD just updated their system. The car was found a few blocks away on Friday evening. And the mother was alive when she talked to the boy Saturday morning."

McGee sighed. "Are we ever going to get a break on this one? Did you find anything at the scene, Boss?"

Gibbs gave him a look. "Like what, McGee? A signed confession? No. But I do have a box full of evidence for you and Abby to go over while Ziva and I go haul Bennett in for questioning in the murder of his ex-wife."

Abby hopped up, energized from the nap. "On it, sir!" She saluted and walked toward the elevator with McGee begin to pouring over the collected evidence.

Halfway there, she stopped. "Where's Tony?"

"I made Ducky take him home to get some sleep," Gibbs answered. "Palmer can handle the autopsy."

McGee and Abby nodded, not showing any surprise since Palmer was perfectly capable of handling it. And they both knew the toll this case was taking on Tony. And they only knew half of the story.

* * *

Ducky watched Tony sleep and wondered how Palmer was doing with the body. He hated to leave those entrusted to his care with someone else, but Palmer was good and Tony needn't be alone, if it could be helped. Not that he thought Tony would intentionally hurt himself, not now that he had calmed down somewhat from the shock of the situation with Amie. Then, Ducky had been truly worried that Tony might hurt himself, intentionally or otherwise. He had recognized the haunted look Tony's eyes had projected that day from a long-ago rotation on the psychiatric ward. He knew Tony wasn't crazy, but at that moment, he was definitely not in control and that was dangerous for someone who was used to exercising an iron will over his emotions. Ducky again wished that Tony would set aside the mask he wore and just be himself, but the doctor knew that would be terrifying for the agent. Ducky knew that only someone with as strong a will as Tony could break down the walls the young man had spent so long building.

* * *

"This guy is good, Gibbs," Abby said in lieu of a greeting when Gibbs walked into her lab. "Crazy good."

McGee nodded in agreement. "Besides Ryan, we can't find a single trace of any other person being in the car and there was nothing on the body. No trace of Bennett at all. This guy is damned good."

"I'm not sure it was Bennett," Gibbs said, surprising them all, including Ziva who had just joined them.

"I've spent hours with this guy, and he's not giving. I thought I was having trouble reading him," Gibbs admitted, much to the surprise of his team. "But my gut says he's innocent. I don't think he beat Ryan and I don't think he killed his ex. Metro says the boy Ryan accused swears he barely knows the kid."

Ziva was the first to break the hushed silence. "So we are back to the serial killer and the mother's killer being one person."

"There's something fundamentally wrong here," Gibbs said, slamming a fist into the nearest counter. "We're missing something. The cases are connected. McGee, Abby, you didn't find anything on the TV footage of Amie's suicide?"

"Nothing, Boss," McGee said while Abby shook her head.

"No connections among Amie, Bennett or the two victims?" he asked Ziva.

"None."

The silence stretched, all of them thinking hard about everything they knew. No one noticed Palmer enter the lab until he cleared his throat softly.

"Uh, Agent Gibbs?" he said, more nervous around the formidable agent than usual.

"Spit it out, Palmer," Gibbs said caustically, still desperately trying to find what they were missing.

"I messed up, Agent Gibbs," Palmer said, looking at the floor. "I messed up my initial time of death for the mother at the scene."

"She was dead longer than two days?" Gibbs said, fighting his tiredness to recall Palmer's initial estimate.

"Less," Palmer said, wishing he could disappear and wondering how he had screwed up. Bad lighting when he took the liver temp? A miscalculation? He could hardly blame his fatigue, since the entire team was being run ragged lately.

Gibbs' head snapped up at the softly spoken word. "When?"

"She died Friday afternoon, sir."

"But that is impossible," Ziva said. "The boy spoke to her Saturday morning at social services."

"Answering machine," Gibbs said, dots connecting in his head faster than he could verbalize them. "The social worker heard the machine pick up and Ryan grabbed phone out of her hand. No wonder she said Ryan calmed down after that. He was covering his tracks."

McGee nodded, catching on. "The stolen car. Roger Bennett didn't drive his car down to kill the mother because he didn't kill her. Ryan Bennett stole one, drove to Richmond and killed his mother. That's why the time frames didn't work. We thought the car was stolen and recovered _before_ she was killed because we thought she died much later because of that phone call."

"The bruises," Ziva said. "Ducky said that the bruises on Ryan's face looked more like impacts with a wall than a fist. Bennett never touched him, and the story about the boy at school was a lie. That is why both denied beating Ryan so vehemently. Ryan faked the beating."

Abby finished what she had been working on throughout the conversation and pointed to the screen. "Ryan Bennett's cell records. He called the lookalike twenty minutes before her death and hundreds of times before that. We never found this because we never looked for links between Ryan and the victims, just Amie or Roger Bennett and the girls. Ryan is both his mother's killer _and_ the serial killer."

"There were no hairs or fibers that didn't belong at the house or scene where we found the mother because we ruled out Ryan," McGee said. "We thought the killer was so clean and yet the evidence was all right there."

"A fifteen-year-old kid did all of this," Gibbs said, shocked. "He fooled all of us."

"And now he's missing," McGee said, suddenly worried. "He could kill again."

"We need to find him, fast," Gibbs said, pulling out his cell. "I'm going to get Tony in here. We need everyone on this."

* * *

The ringing phone awakened Tony at about the same time as the knock at his door. He looked around for Ducky and saw a sliver of light beneath the bathroom door.

"DiNozzo." He answered the phone, walking toward the door. He unlocked the door as he listened to Gibbs' succinct explanation that Ryan was the killer. He pulled the door open and said, "Yeah, Boss, I know."

"You know?" Gibbs practically screamed at him over the phone, his rage not scaring Tony half as much as the sight before him.

"You don't have to worry about finding him, though," Tony said. "He's pointing a gun at me right now."


	10. Chapter 10

"I'll have a hostage rescue team there as soon as I can. Is Ducky still there?" Gibbs asked, the agent in him shoving aside the concern he felt for his friends.

"Yes," Tony answered, his eyes on the gun in the boy's hands. It was steady with no hint of a wobble. This kid had held a weapon before. _Shit._

"Hang up the phone," Ryan ordered, all traces of the scared-little-boy act gone.

Tony did as he was told, desperately hoping Ducky had heard him when he told Gibbs about the gun purposely loudly and would stay in the bathroom. He thought about his guns in the bedroom and wondered why he didn't have a bunch of them stashed around his house, movie-style.

"Are you alone?" Ryan asked, walking toward Tony and kicking the door shut behind him.

"Yes, I'm the only one here," Tony said, loudly again, in case Ducky hadn't heard his first warning. He fought the urge to look and see if the bathroom light was still on, but didn't dare risking Ryan seeing his glance and following it. This kid was scary calm, reminding Tony of Amie's demeanor on the rooftop. _What the hell had these kids gone through?_

Tony mentally headslapped himself for feeling sorry for the murderer in front of him. He reminded himself that this kid had killed multiple times now, and by the way he held the gun on Tony with no shake in his hands and no emotion in his eyes, Tony was sure it wouldn't take much for him to kill again.

"Lock the door," Ryan ordered. Tony moved to do so, looking for an opening to tackle the kid. "And don't even think about that. I will shoot you."

Tony locked the door with a sigh. _Thanks a lot, McGee, _he thought wearily. _This is what I get for you not knowing your own cell number. Or maybe it was your damn chicken-scratch handwriting. Either way, I'm screwed. At least maybe I can get Ducky out of this unscathed._

"Come on, now, Agent DiNozzo," Ryan said, his voice reverting to his scared-child act. "You wouldn't hurt me, would you?" He laughed, dropping the wounded tone. "We're kindred spirits, after all. Our mean fathers taking out their anger on us… Poor us!"

Tony took a deep breath to try to quell his building rage. He would have tackled the little bastard if Ryan hadn't held the gun that still pointed squarely at his chest.

"Go close the blinds," Ryan said, pushing Tony's patience to the limit.

The agent crossed his arms over his chest and simply said, "No."

Ryan gaped at him for a second before recovering his composure. "This is a loaded gun, and I'm not afraid to use it." He paused, taking in Tony's steely determination. "I killed my mother. Wrapped my hands around her neck and squeezed while she struggled to breathe… until she didn't. I have no problem with killing a virtual stranger."

Tony saw his own mother as Ryan spoke in that eerie calm, lifelessly cold voice. He imagined her frantically kicking at the air and finding no relief, no way to bring in precious air. Tony wondered, as he often did, if she had thought of him during those final moments.

He shoved the thoughts aside, knowing he had to keep it together if he was going to get him and Ducky out of this. Apparently the doctor had heard his warnings: He was still in the bathroom, and when Tony sneaked a glance as he crossed to the window, he saw the lights were now off. He scanned the rooftops across the street and wondered which one Gibbs would pick to set up base.

_Better hurry, _Tony thought, feeling a little relief at imagining Gibbs in full-on authoritative mode. As he closed the blinds, he made a "V" in the grime on the window, blocking the motion with his body. He was suddenly glad for his lax cleaning habits, but he shook off the absurd thought as he turned back to the teenager holding the gun on him.

He looked at Ryan as if through new eyes, but he still couldn't see past the bruises on his face. _Had he known? _Tony thought. _Did he pick me because he knew? _Tony couldn't get himself to believe that. No one knew, let alone a kid he had never met. But he couldn't get Gibbs' earlier theory out of his head: Was someone out to get him? _Too weird. _He pictured this kid slamming himself face-first into a wall and remembered Ryan's panic at his suggestion of a hospital. He guessed the kid thought a doctor might know he'd faked the beating. Ducky had picked up on it, but Tony suspected the doctor was too caught up in his concern for Tony for the thought to have crossed his mind. And if it had, he'd surely dismissed it because of the circumstances. _I left Ducky alone with a killer,_ Tony suddenly thought. _I called him here and he could have died because of me._

Tony realized Ryan hadn't spoken in a while. The kid was just looking at him with something like excitement in his eyes.

"You're wondering how I did it," Ryan said gleefully, like a kid on Christmas morning.

"I don't care," Tony said, causing Ryan to howl in rage and hurl the nearest object—a coffee cup from a bookshelf—at Tony's head. Tony easily ducked the cup, which shattered against the wall behind him, but didn't miss the double significance of the gesture. First, the kid had come here to gloat, and Tony knew he could stall him by letting him talk. Second, the kid was quick. By the time Tony had seen the boy grab the cup and was about to charge him, Tony was already ducking out of its well-aimed path and staring at the gun pointed at him.

_Shit, _Tony thought, watching the kid fume and praying Ducky would stay hidden despite the commotion.

* * *

"Tell me where we're at?" Gibbs barked from his position on the rooftop across from Tony's apartment.

"Blinds are shut, but I'm setting up heat-sensing equipment so we can see where they are," McGee said.

"Tony has a webcam," Ziva said, suddenly remembering a conversation they'd had a while ago. Oh, how she missed the banter that had been missing from their workdays lately. "If he can turn it on, we may be able to see what is happening."

"Good thinking, Ziva," McGee said. "I'll get everything ready on my end, but I don't know how we're going to tell Tony to turn it on… if he even can."

"Tony's smart," Gibbs said. "He may think of it."

"Recording system is set, boss," McGee said from in front of the laptop. "You can make that call now."

"Gibbs," Ziva said urgently. "Let me put a bug under the door. We both know I can get in and out undetected."

"I told you before, Ziva, it's too risky," Gibbs answered with only half his usual bark. They were all clearly worried about Tony and Ducky. "If he hears you, he'll have another hostage, and if he sees it, he might go crazy. This kid is highly unstable, in case you haven't noticed."

Ziva huffed out a breath in frustration as Gibbs picked up the phone to dial Tony's home number. Just as he was about to enter the digits from memory, the phone in his hand rang.

He gestured to McGee to start the recording. "It's Tony's home phone. Let's do this."

* * *

**A/N: **I just want to take a moment to remember those who lost their lives on Sept. 11, 2001, and to thank those who willingly put themselves in danger every day so the rest of us can be free to live our lives in places made safer because of their courage. I sit here indulging my creativity freely and safely because of the armed forces from around the globe, and I am humbled in that knowledge. Thank you to all of the men and women in uniform.


	11. Chapter 11

"Gibbs."

"Special Agent Gibbs of NCIS?" Ryan asked, and Gibbs could hear the smile in his voice. _This kid is definitely nuts._

"The one and only," Gibbs said, seeing McGee's nod that the recording was running.

"I'm setting up a webcam," Ryan said conversationally, like he was talking to a friend. "I'll be broadcasting this little situation over the Internet shortly." Gibbs snapped his fingers at McGee but the agent was already on it.

"You want to be famous, Ryan?" Gibbs asked.

Ryan laughed. "I don't want to talk to you, Special Agent Gibbs. I have my own captive audience of one here. I just wanted to make sure you're watching."

The phone went dead in Gibbs' hand. He barked, "McGee, I want to see that video. And I want to be the _only _one watching it. Can you do that?"

McGee nodded. "Sure, I'll just shut down the… Yes, I'll do it," he said, flushing at the look Gibbs gave him.

"Good." Gibbs sighed, hating that there was nothing to do. It reminded him too much of another set of rooftops, another time when he could do nothing but watch and wait and hope his agent could pull through. Not that he would admit it, but he felt the same concern for Tony and Ducky that he saw in his agents' eyes.

"Why did Tony mark a 'V' on the window?" Ziva asked, binoculars trained on the apartment across the street.

Neither agent had an answer.

"It's up," McGee said, turning the laptop so Gibbs could see the video streaming from the apartment across the street.

Ziva stood between the men's shoulders and looked at the screen. It showed Tony's living room, the camera obviously positioned in a corner so the whole room was visible. All three agents were struck by the same thing: The gun that the teen held on Tony did not waver in his hands.

"Where's Ducky?" Gibbs asked. "The kid said 'captive audience of one.' "

"Uh," McGee said, tapping some keys and bringing up the heat-imaging picture. "There," he said, pointing to another part of the apartment.

"Bathroom," Gibbs said, thankful they had caught a break.

"He is moving around, but not much," Ziva said. "I wonder if he is hiding or if the kid put him there and tied him up?"

"Can't tell, Boss," McGee said, eyeing the screen and happy to be able to do something, anything.

"Look," Ziva said after a movement on the screen. "His hands are apart. He is okay. He must be hiding."

"Yeah, he's okay," Gibbs said. "And he had better stay that way."

* * *

"You're good with computers," Tony said once the teen finished telling him how to rig the webcam and set up the broadcast. Tony messed up purposely a couple of times, hoping the kid would do it himself, but Ryan patiently explained everything, keeping the gun pushed firmly into Tony's back.

"Yeah," Ryan answered, turning slightly to face the camera. "I'm a computer genius!"

"You think people will really watch this?"

"Of course. Especially everyone at my school," he said, beaming happily.

"You didn't mention friends," Tony said, leaning against the arm of sofa and crossing his arms over his chest. He would never have admitted it, but Ryan was making him seriously nervous. The childlike gleefulness contrasted sharply with the deadly serious weapon he pointed at the agent's chest. Tony wondered if he'd fired a gun before and if he was a decent shot or not. He really didn't want to find out.

Ryan threw him a dark glance. "I have plenty of friends. Well, now I have two less friends," he laughed. "But they knew they were sacrificing themselves to the cause, even if they didn't want to admit it."

Tony's head swam with questions, but he'd die before he indulged the little prick. He stayed silent, watching Ryan's anger grow.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself," he said with a nod to the camera. "Let me start from the beginning. I am Ryan Bennett and I kill people. For fun! It all started with my stepsister, Amie. You may have watched her commit suicide on live TV last week. But that little drama is nothing compared with the one you are about to see! I have here with me Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo of NCIS. You may recognize his face from the evening news. I'm guessing the producers made them show a rather heart-wrenching close-up of him right after he dropped her instead showing my dear ol' sis going _splat_ on the pavement ten stories below."

Tony couldn't take it anymore. He felt sick inside at the disgusting smile on the teenager's face while he talked coldly about his stepsister's tragic death. Tony didn't even think about what he was doing: One second he was leaning against the couch, listening in fury to the kid desecrating Amie's memory; the next second, he was moving across the room at the object of his rage. He heard the gun fire—he was expecting it, really—but he didn't expect the force of the bullet tearing through his shoulder to stop him in his tracks. Tony landed on his knees, and Ryan delivered a vicious kick to the agent's face and then jumped back, fear in his eyes for only a fleeting moment.

Tony struggled to get up despite the blackness at the edges of his vision and the sudden, white-hot pain in his shoulder, but Ryan's voice stopped him cold. "I won't miss this time."

* * *

The trio of agents on the rooftop all stared in shock at what they were watching. They made no sounds, save the growl Gibbs let out when Ryan kicked Tony in the face. They watched Tony begin to get up, then stop. They saw him lean back against the couch and put a hand to the bleeding hole in his right shoulder. They heard the coldness in Ryan's voice when he pledged better aim the next time.

"What do we do, Boss?" McGee finally said.

"Well we can't go breaking the door down," Gibbs said, frustrated that his preferred plan of attack was stymied by the gun Ryan held on Tony.

"Tear gas?" Ziva ventured. "We could put it under the door? Or into the ventilation system?"

"Tony's lungs are scarred from the plague," McGee said, "so that may not be such a good idea. But it may be our only choice."

Gibbs nodded. "Ziva, work with the locals on that. Don't do anything until you get my say-so."

"Understood," she said, jogging for the door and passing Palmer, who had just arrived.

"I got it, Agent Gibbs," he said, handing over the rifle he had retrieved from Gibbs' basement.

"Thanks, Palmer."

* * *

"You just shot a federal agent, Ryan," Tony said through teeth clenched in pain. The bullet had entered his right shoulder, just under the collarbone. A fraction of an inch higher and the bone would have been shattered. The wound was bleeding, but Tony was able to keep pressure on it with his left hand and he didn't think there was an exit wound. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He thought about the doctor down the hall and almost laughed.

"I killed three people, Special Agent DiNozzo," Ryan said. "This doesn't really rank too high on my list of crimes."

"Does it make you feel special? Using our titles like that?" Tony asked, not caring if he was pissing the kid off.

"I fooled you all, didn't I?" he asked with a self-satisfied smile. "Back to that. I was upstairs when the agents came to my house. Officer David and Special Agent Tim McGee told my dad about Amie's swan dive off the roof, and then I came downstairs while they were talking. Agent McGee was so nice. He talked to me and I think he's a lot like me. He's really into computers, like me, but he had a badge and a gun. I thought he was totally cool."

Tony realized through his fog of pain that Ryan was addressing the camera again. The kid really thought he was going to be famous because of this. Ryan noticed Tony watching him and turned his attention back to the wounded agent.

"When Agent McGee left with Officer David, I felt lonely. I thought about calling him, but I didn't want him to think I was pathetic so I came up with an idea to see him again. And, as an added bonus, I thought I might be able to get rid of my dad at the same time." Ryan laughed. "Not that he beat me or anything, but he was getting on my nerves lately. I knew NCIS only investigated Navy-related stuff and since my dad had taken me to a job site of his—he's a contractor with the Navy—I knew that would be my crime scene. I just needed a victim. And I had the perfect person in mind. My friend Dana was always talking about suicide _and _she looked creepily similar to Amie. Dana was such a Debbie downer, always whining about her parents hitting her and crap. I did that bitch a favor when I took her up the roof and pretended like I was staging an intervention with her. I gave her these sappy-caring-stupid lines about how her life had meaning and she shouldn't be thinking about suicide. I told her about Amie and how broken up I was. She was totally buying it, and I told her to look over the edge to see just how far down ten stories is. It was so easy. I barely had to push her and over she went. Oops."

Ryan laughed again, and Tony cursed the weakness he chalked up to blood loss. Even as he raged inside at the calculated callousness of the kid, he wondered what would happen when Ryan was done telling his story. If Ducky hadn't been in the apartment, Tony would have willingly attacked the kid, knowing full well he would probably die, too. But it would be worth it if he could take this little bastard with him.

"The thrill of knowing she was dead because of me was … it was such a rush. And then when the agents came back for my dad… It was amazing. I felt so important." Ryan's gaze darkened. "But then there was nothing. But I had to feel something again. So I stole a car and went and killed my mom. It was so easy… and so thrilling! She was always getting on my case anyway. 'Do your homework, Ryan. Clean your room, Ryan.' Once I had killed her and dumped her body off the side of the road, I felt so free. I started thinking that my dad needed to go, too. I kicked myself all the way back from Richmond because I should have brought some hairs or stuff from my dad to put at the crime scene. That way, the cops would think it was him when they investigated… you know, like on CSI? But I couldn't go back without risking getting caught—I mean, I don't even have a license and I was driving a stolen car—so I stopped at this deserted rest stop and gave myself the bruises by slamming my face into the wall and throwing myself against the sink and stuff. Then I called Agent McGee. Well, I thought it was him. My hands were shaking pretty bad from the thrill of it all, you know. So anyway, I get you instead."

Ryan paused, looking at his captive. Tony mentally berated himself for his earlier lack of control as he spit out the blood from his damaged lip that had been pooling in his mouth. If he hadn't gotten himself shot, he could have tackled the kid during his horrific trip down memory lane. _Damn you, DiNozzo. You're going to get yourself _and_ Ducky killed because you can't handle your fucking emotions. _

As if called forth by his thoughts, Tony saw Ducky peek around the wall leading to the hallway. _No, dammit, Ducky! Stay hidden!_

Ryan kept talking, regaling his "viewers" with the story of his night being tended to by Special Agent DiNozzo, but Tony was surreptitiously watching Ducky. The doctor looked at Tony for a long moment, no doubt trying to gauge the extent of his injuries. The ME then looked around the room, staying carefully hidden in the shadowed, windowless hall. Ryan had his back to both Ducky and the windows.

Ducky said a prayer and moved out of the shadows toward the window, hoping desperately that the boy wouldn't turn around. He saw Tony wince, but the doctor doubted it was his physical pain showing on his face at that moment. _I'm sorry, dear boy, but I have to do this. You're bleeding too much and I think we both know what happens when Ryan is done with his gruesome tale._

"—So I had been working on my other friend, Lacie, since shoving dear ol' Dana off the roof. I kept telling her that since she was driving the night her best friend died, she should kill herself to make amends and join her friend. I told her how Amie killed her own mother—a brilliant lie, I might add—and how she talked about killing herself because she knew she wanted to be with her mom and how she really believed it would work. I told Lacie since she'd signed up for the Navy that she was going to get sent off to war and would probably die soon anyway and she should go out on her own terms. Poor dumb Lacie had no one. She was raised by foster parents who cared more about that monthly check than her, and she had no friends except the one she killed. Not really her fault, by the way, they were hit by a drunk driver, but I needed her for my game. I wasn't even there when she died, Agent DiNozzo, that's how good I am. I called her from the social services office and told her I had a dream that Amie, Dana and her dead friend told me she should come join them. They could all be friends forever in heaven and she could see her dead parents again. She _believed _me."

Ryan laughed again, making Tony want to get up and strangle the manipulative bastard, no matter how many bullets the little shit put in him. But he couldn't. Ducky had made his way to the nearest of two windows and was slowly pulling the plastic slats out of the blinds, creating a hole.

Just at that moment, one piece of plastic caught and made a little _thunk_ as Ducky pulled it free. Ryan started to turn, but Tony's cry of pain—only half-faked—made him stop. Ryan studied his captive with unnerving glee.

"I've never seen a gunshot wound before," he said, coming closer to where Tony sat, still covering the injury and trying to stem the flow of blood. The boy straightened suddenly and Ducky stepped back into the shadowed hall. "But you're distracting me and we probably don't have much time before they get all impatient and break down the door. Or throw some gas under it or something like in the movies."

Tony didn't think he could handle much more of Ryan's depressingly triumphant tale, but he didn't have a choice. He could only sit there, listen and hope a sniper could get a shot through the three-inch gap Ducky had made. Tony didn't think about whether his team had understood his "V" signal, if that shot would come before Ryan finished his story and finished him off with a bullet in his head, or if he would bleed to death before then—it was all too depressing.

* * *

Gibbs used the sniper scope to first check Tony's condition after he saw the hole appear in the blinds like magic. His team had been going nuts on the rooftop after watching the awful live video of Tony getting shot. They were reassured that Tony was upright and talking afterward, but Gibbs knew from the growing bloodstain on Tony's shirt that his agent was running out of time.

He scanned the room for his target, the situation reminding him again of another rooftop, another time—but there were no rubber bullets loaded into the rifle this time.

He focused the crosshairs of the rifle squarely on the teenager's back and spoke into his radio. "Ziva, I need to know if the gas is a go or not. Now."

* * *

"So anyway, I took back my story about my dad abusing me because I realized it would be easier to kill more bitches staying with him than in foster care. I mean, it was so easy when I snuck out to kill my mother. He didn't even know I was gone. And then I gave them the name of some creep at school who pushed me off the slide when we were in elementary school. Ha, I hope that douchebag shit his pants when they hauled him in for questioning. That'll teach him."

"Hey," Ryan shouted. "Pay attention!"

Tony realized he had closed his eyes in pain. Or maybe it was to try to block out the sick rationale of the murderer in front of him. He opened his eyes, thinking he needed to make a move while he still had the strength. He was already feeling weak and slightly cold because of the blood loss.

"Good," Ryan said, but his face had darkened in anger. "And finally, there's Missy, this crazy Goth friend of mine. I thought she would be the perfect target. But the bitch wouldn't go near the edge of the building. Said she was afraid of heights. Said she didn't want to die. Said she wanted to leave. Bitch!"

Tony realized that Ryan was breathing heavily and his sentences were coming in short bursts of anger at his obviously failed mission. He had to act soon, before it was too late for Ducky. He tried to get into a better position to get up, but stopped abruptly when the tiny movement sent a bolt of pain through his shoulder and the blackness returned to the edges of his vision.

"I tried to shove her toward the edge, to push her off. I told her she needed to die for my plan, but she wouldn't listen. She started screaming that I was crazy. Me, crazy! She's the psycho who wears all black and likes skulls. She got away. I knew it was over. She was going to tell on me. I panicked for a bit, but then it hit me. Bam! All I have to do is come here and kill you—a federal agent, live on the Internet—and then I would be famous. I'd be on the news and all the talk shows and everyone would know my name and—"

Tony had managed to push aside the pain and get to his knees when he heard the gunshot. He was surprised when he didn't feel the pain of the bullet tearing through his chest, especially since his shoulder burned like liquid fire. It wasn't until the split-second later when Ryan's body pitched forward and Tony heard the shattering glass that it all made sense.

Ryan's lifeless corpse landed face-first just in front of spot where Tony still knelt. Blood pooled around his ruined skull. The sight—or maybe the agony of the hole in his shoulder—made Tony suddenly want to throw up.

* * *

Gibbs watched through the scope as the killer fell stone-dead on Tony's living room floor, and he took his finger off the trigger.

McGee's panicked voice came from somewhere off to his left, "Boss, the 'V' was for vest. Ryan's wearing one."

"Well, yeah, McGee. I kind of figured that out. That's why I just put a bullet through his head."

* * *

Ziva waited in the hall outside the apartment with the local authorities, ready to radio Gibbs that she was in place to employ the tear gas.

She wasn't even aware she screamed Tony's name when she heard the gunshot. She just kicked in the door and rushed into the room. Her training allowed her to take in the details in an instant and she yelled "Clear!" into the hallway.

"Get me a medic, now!"


	12. Chapter 12

Tony lay on his back, his face bone-white as Ducky's hands pressed against his wound to stanch the flow of blood. Ziva ignored the obviously dead killer and dropped to her knees beside her partner, taking his bloody left hand in hers.

"Tony," she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. She winced, feeling his pain when he turned to spit out a mouthful of blood.

"Ziva," he said, his voice faint and rife with pain.

She gripped his hand, feeling the stitches in the underside of his wrist. "You are going to be fine, Tony," she said, but her voice betrayed her. She was worried, especially when she looked over and saw the amount of blood seeping through Ducky's fingers. She blinked back tears as two paramedics rushed into the room. She watched helplessly, wishing she could do something to ease her partner's pain.

"Let's give them some room, my dear." Ziva barely heard Ducky's soft voice in her ear, but she allowed him to pull her away. She reluctantly let go of Tony's hand.

A tear ran down her cheek as she whispered, "I'm still here, Tony."

She watched the medic start an IV in Tony's arm, then she wiped away the tear as her training kicked in and she went and held up the bag. She flinched as Tony gasped in pain when the medic turned him to check for an exit wound. There wasn't one that she could see, and she suddenly wanted to get away. The pain written across Tony's pinched features was tearing her in half. She shoved the bag of fluids at Ducky and ran from the room, nearly colliding with Gibbs and McGee as they rushed in.

"How is he?" Gibbs demanded.

"You could ask me yourself," Tony ground out through teeth clenched against the searing agony in his shoulder.

Gibbs almost smiled, and he was flooded with relief at hearing his agent's voice, even though it was strained and Tony was obviously hurting. He saw McGee leaving the room and guessed the young agent was going after Ziva. He had been shocked to see her fleeing the room where her partner lay bleeding. It had been a long time since he had seen normally aloof Mossad officer that upset, and he wondered if she had feelings for Tony that went beyond being partners.

"When'd you get _your _MD?" Gibbs asked without a trace of his usual bite. He turned his attention to the medics. "Why the hell is he still here? I want him in a hospital—yesterday!"

The medics placed Tony on a stretcher and whisked him from the room. As soon as his agent was safely on his way to the hospital, Gibbs looked at Ducky, took in the blood covering the doctor's hands, and ordered, "Tell me he's going to be okay."

Ducky smiled, but Gibbs saw the concern on his face. "Bullet hit him just under the collarbone. No exit wound so I'd say it's probably lodged against his scapula—the shoulder blade. No doubt they'll take him into surgery, remove the bullet and repair the damaged tissue."

Gibbs gave his old friend a sideways glance as they walked down the hall. McGee and Ziva were nowhere around, and Gibbs figured they'd already caught an elevator down. "What are you not telling me?"

Ducky frowned, wishing he had something on which to wipe his hands. Seeing Tony's blood smeared all over them was obviously upsetting Gibbs. "He lost a lot of blood, Jethro. But he didn't lose consciousness and considering he was able to speak and was aware of what was going on around him, I think he's going to be all right. We'll know more after they get in there and determine the extent of the damage."

Gibbs sighed in frustration. He really hated waiting for answers.

* * *

McGee found Ziva in the stairwell. _She sees that Tony's alive and leaves. Job done. Mission accomplished, _he thought bitterly, descending the stairs ready to give her a piece of his mind. _Nevermind that our partner—our _friend _—is lying there, in pain and possibly bleeding to death. _

As McGee approached the Mossad officer on the bottom stair, his anger abruptly vanished. Ziva was sitting with her face in her hands, crying silently. He put a hand on her shoulder and opened his mouth to say something comforting, but he never got the words out. Ziva, startled by the contact, reached up and locked her hand around his wrist, twisting until he faced the wall and she stood behind him, her gun against his ear.

"Ziva!" McGee yelped in terror.

She released him instantly, and he turned slowly, taking in her tear-streaked face.

Neither spoke for a long moment. McGee just rubbed his wrist until she finally said, "I am sorry, McGee. You scared me."

" 'Startled' is more like it," he said softly. "I didn't think anything scared you."

"Plenty of things scare me," she said, sitting on the step. "I just have been trained to not show it."

McGee didn't speak, unsure of what to say to that. He just waited, sensing that Ziva had something to say.

"When I was outside that apartment and that gunshot went off," she started, fresh tears making her eyes swim, "I… I felt like everything was ending. I felt like I was the one who got shot and I was dying. In a split-second, I thought Tony was dead and I would never be able to tell him the things … what I need to tell him. I love him, Tim, and I thought he was dead, but I still reacted like a Mossad agent. I kicked in the door and cleared the room before I ever went to him, to see if he was even breathing. He could have been dead and I…" She collapsed into McGee's open arms and sobbed openly against his chest. "I do not want to be like this anymore. I … I _don't._" The contraction that fell foreignly from her lips was for Tony. He had to be okay. He just had to.

* * *

The whole team was there. Gibbs had called Abby and told her and Palmer to meet them at the hospital. It was one the hardest things he'd ever had to do—telling her the man she loved like a brother was in the back of an ambulance with a bullet in him. McGee had waited while Ziva washed her face and then they had followed Gibbs and Ducky to the ER, both hoping against hope that Tony would be okay.

The whole team was there, some sitting, some leaning, Gibbs pacing. No one spoke because they were all sharing the same thoughts.

A nurse came and informed them that Tony was still in surgery, and Ducky and Palmer excused themselves for a tea run, while Gibbs watched McGee settle between Abby and Ziva. Gibbs knew something had happened between the two agents because of the way Tim held Ziva against his side, mirroring the hold he had on Abby. Gibbs knew Ziva hated it when people, especially the team, thought she was emotionless. He knew from experience that she felt deeply and cared deeply even though she rarely showed it outwardly. Judging from the way she let her head fall against Tim's shoulder, Gibbs was pleased to think she might be loosening the iron grip she held over her emotions.

Gibbs' thoughts wandered as he struggled to not show how worried he was about Tony. He thought about the first time he had met the spunky young detective in Baltimore.

_Gibbs rushed into the warehouse where drug bust was about to go down. He looked at the detective at his side, knowing from watching his investigation this past week that the man was sharp. _

But is he any good with that gun? _Gibbs thought, eyeing the young man beside him. Gibbs nodded sharply and burst through the door, Detective DiNozzo a step behind him. Gibbs ordered the two sailors who were unloading a large quantity of cocaine to put their hands on their heads. The men complied, but Gibbs suddenly heard a noise to his left and felt on a hand on his shoulder, shoving him to the ground. He was about to lay into DiNozzo when the detective spoke, his voice unbelieving._

"_The _fuck, _Danny?" DiNozzo yelled._

_Gibbs looked up and saw DiNozzo's partner leveling a weapon in their direction. The man had begged off the raid earlier, citing his kid's illness. Gibbs had thought it strange at the time, but he didn't question it. He really needed to start listening to his gut._

"_Drop the gun, Tony," Danny yelled at his shocked partner. "Your friend, too." He said, jerking the weapon at Gibbs. _

"_No way, partner," DiNozzo said evenly, disdain in his voice when he said "partner." _

"_I won't shoot you, DiNozzo," Danny said. "But I'm not letting you take me down. Either of you. I'm walking out of here with my score."_

"_It's two against one, Keller," Gibbs said, using Danny's last name. He got to his feet, his gun trained on Keller. "Put the gun down and kick it over here."_

"_It'll be one on one after I shoot you," Keller said. "Tony wouldn't shoot me."_

"_We're done, Keller," DiNozzo said, his voice flat. Gibbs actually felt bad for the kid, who had obviously looked up to his partner. _

_At Tony's words, Keller turned the gun on his partner. "I'll cut you in, DiNozzo." His voice was starting to sound slightly panicked. "Don't make me shoot you."_

"_It's over, Danny," DiNozzo said, almost gently. "Put the gun down and no one gets hurt."_

_Keller started to lower the gun, but stopped. He cried, "I can't go to jail, Tony! You know what they'll do to me in there. All those guys we put away..." _

"_Danny, don't!" DiNozzo yelled, knowing what his partner was going to do. They knew each so well, that's why they were such a good team._

_It took Gibbs a second longer to realize what was about to happen._

_Keller stopped lowering the weapon and said, "I'm sorry, Tony." _

_Gibbs watched the barrel of Keller's gun come up and point directly at him at the same time he heard the gunshot and saw Keller's head snap back. The bullet had hit him right between the eyes. Gibbs looked over at the man who had just shot his partner to save a stranger's life and knew he needed this cop on his team back at NCIS._

_Gibbs walked over to where Keller lay and put two fingers to his throat. "He's dead."_

_Gibbs was surprised by DiNozzo's harsh bark of a laugh. "Well, yeah. That was the point. I couldn't let him kill you." _

_Gibbs looked past the detective's flippant response and saw the pain in his eyes. He knew Keller had been more than a partner to DiNozzo; he had been a mentor, someone the kid looked up to. Gibbs had no doubt that DiNozzo had had no idea his partner was dirty. _

_Gibbs walked over to the detective, who was staring down at the gun in his hands. "Hey," Gibbs said, putting a hand on his shoulder, surprised to find the kid shaking slightly. "Thank you."_

_DiNozzo shrugged the hand off his shoulder and plastered a smile on his face. "Don't thank me. I'm gonna stick you with all the paperwork."_

_Gibbs smiled at him, knowing the attempt at humor was a diversionary tactic to distract Gibbs from the very real anguish DiNozzo was feeling but obviously not comfortable showing._

"Gibbs!" Abby practically yelled in his face.

Gibbs shook off the memory, thinking how some things never changed. He looked at the doctor standing before him in blood-stained scrubs.

"He's alive," Gibbs said. It was not a question.

The doctor smiled and nodded. "We got the bullet out from where it was lodged against his shoulder blade and repaired the tissue damage. He lost a lot of blood, but he's going to be fine. We're moving him to a private room, and then you can see him. One at a time, only."

Gibbs thanked the doctor sincerely, drawing looks from his team.

"Of course he'll be fine," Gibbs said, deflecting. "He's DiNozzo."

* * *

**A/N: **More to come… Maybe… I guess… I really have no idea.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I wasn't sure there was more to this story, but thanks to my wonderful reviewers, here it is. Thanks to you all.

**A/N (updated): **Yeah, I never meant for this story to be TIVA, but it just kind of happened. My apologies for that. It goes away for the sequels so you can stop reading now if it squicks you. There's also a Gibbs/Tony moment toward the end that is a little fluffy, but I decided not to change this story since it was my first. Live and learn!

* * *

McGee was surprised to find himself the first to be shown into Tony's dimly lit room. He was relieved, too, if he was honest with himself. He wasn't sure what to say to Tony, and he pondered this as he took a seat beside his unconscious partner.

"Hi, Tony," he said lamely, suddenly wishing the agent were awake to make fun of him for it.

In truth, McGee was feeling lost. He could deal with a joking Tony, a charming Tony, even a deadly serious Tony—when the situation called for it, and when it did, McGee was glad to have the experienced back-up.

But McGee had no idea what to do with a hurt Tony. Physically hurt, sure, he could—_had_—handled that. He hadn't been with Tony during the worst of the plague incident, but he had known how it felt to think your friend that close to death. God knew Tony found all kinds of ways to get himself in trouble and had suffered numerous injuries on the job before.

But a Tony that was less than unfailingly strong, _that_ was hard to handle, because the man lying unconscious in front of him was the epitome of strength. Physically, mentally, emotionally, he was unshakable. Hell, McGee had even seen him down a pizza after the most gruesome of crime scenes. The guy even had a strong stomach.

But the Tony who had opened his heart, knowing full well his team could hear him, on that rooftop to try to save a stranger… The Tony who had spoken those words with such anguish… _That_ Tony left McGee without words.

So he sat, for a few minutes, thinking and not speaking. Finally, not wanting to keep the others waiting, he got up. He looked down at the healing wounds on Tony's forearm and laid a gentle hand on his partner's.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you're okay," he said. And then he walked to the door.

* * *

Ducky and Palmer spent only a few minutes with Tony, and then left, forcing a tired-but-protesting McGee to go with them.

"It's been a long day, my boy," Ducky said, taking hold of McGee's arm.

Gibbs motioned Abby toward the hall, but the scientist shook her head. "No, Gibbs. Let Ziva go. I want to see him when he's awake."

_Me, too,_ Ziva thought, but she stood. "I won't be long."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the contraction she never used but didn't say anything. He just stopped pacing and took a seat beside Abby, who curled into his side. "Take your time, Ziva. I want him awake, too."

The women exchanged a look before he continued, "Because I want him to know how stupid it was to lunge at a crazy kid with a gun."

Ziva smiled at the lack of ferocity in Gibbs' voice. "Of course."

She walked down the hallway and took a seat in the chair McGee had vacated so recently. She leaned forward, stopped, then leaned forward again, taking Tony's injured left hand in both of hers.

"I am… _I'm_ so sorry, Tony," she said softly, tracing the gouges in the back of his hand gently. "I'm sorry about your mother. I'm sorry that you lost her so young, and I'm sorry that you never felt like you could talk to us—any of us—about her."

She felt tears burning her eyes and had to stop and take a breath. She looked up from his hand to his face, serene except for the angry bruising at the corner of his mouth where Ryan had kicked him. She shuddered at the memory of him spitting bright red blood at the scene.

"And I'm sorry, Tony," she said, her voice shaking, "that it has taken me so long, and that it has taken _this_ to make me tell you that I love you."

A tear slipped down her face, but she didn't wipe it away as she normally would. She didn't care if he saw her crying. She desperately wanted him to wake up so she could tell him again. She stood slowly, not wanting to leave his side until she could look into his brilliant green eyes and tell him what she had felt for so long. She let go of his hand reluctantly, for the second time that day, and went to the door, tears falling in earnest.

"Ziva."

She stopped, stood stock-still, and slowly turned, not believing her ears. Brilliant green eyes met her dark ones, and she rushed back to his side. She saw the confusion in his eyes and blurted, "I love you, Tony."

She watched his eyes close and railed herself for being so stupid. He didn't love her. Who could love a Mossad-trained assassin? _No one,_ she thought bitterly, staring at the face of the man she loved who would never love her back.

As she stood staring, she realized his breathing was fast and shallow, and his voice tight with pain when he said, "I love you, too, Ziva."

She almost laughed out loud in relief. She brushed a quick kiss across his swollen lips and ran to get a doctor.

Gibbs watched Ziva fly out of the room and half-drag the nearest doctor back inside. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. He figured that was confirmation enough that there was more between the two agents than they had let on, as he had suspected. Despite rule No. 12, he was glad. They both deserved to be happy.

He looked down at the sleeping Goth on his shoulder and decided Ziva could take as much time as she wanted.

Once Tony was properly doped up and settled, the doctor left. Ziva and Tony both spoke at once.

"I've been in love with you for so long…"

"I'm so sorry I waited so long to tell you…"

They laughed. Tony winced. Ziva grimaced at the pained look on his face.

"You said 'I'm'," Tony said softly.

She beamed, holding his hand tightly in hers, as if she would never let go. "Just for you."

He smiled sleepily. "I'm going to start getting all loopy now."

"_That's_ okay," she said, emphasizing the contraction. "I love you loopy."

He smiled, then frowned as she started to cry again. "Ziva? What is it?"

She sniffled, attempting to smile through her tears. "I… You are my balance."

He waited for more, cursing the drugs coursing through his veins. He knew that should make sense.

She saw the confusion on his face and was glad he seemed to be in less pain now. "I know that does not make any sense. What _I'm_ trying to say is that I was trained as a Mossad assassin. I am always serious. And you rarely are." She saw him frown again. "And _that's_ the point. It is what I love about you. The world is a good place for you because you make it good. Your mother killed herself because things were bad, yes?"

He nodded slowly, and she continued, "But you would never do something like that. You would never make things harder on someone else just to make things easier for you. You are able to see the good when anyone else—everyone else—would see only the bad. I need you to be that goodness for me… To be that for me when I can't."

She stopped, fearing she was rambling and still not making sense, but she smiled when he said, "I am your balance."

Twin tears made tracks down her cheeks, and she raised his hand to her lips and kissed the half-healed marks on his wrist. She kept his hand in hers until she was sure he was sleeping. She would face Gibbs' anger and Abby's disappointment later. She felt like she could take on the world because he loved her. And the best part of that was she knew she would never _have_ to take it on alone because he loved her.


	14. Chapter 14

Ziva stayed with Tony for the short time it took him to give in to the drugs and sleep again. She kissed his forehead and left. Her mind was spinning, but a weight began lifting from her soul. She entered the waiting area and was surprised to see Gibbs watching her with a bemused smile. _Nothing gets by that man._

Abby sprang up, ready to unleash her fury on Ziva. That is, until she saw the woman's tear-streaked face. "You don't cry, Ziva."

Ziva laughed softly. "I cry more than you know."

Abby considered that, her fury fading fast. Her lightning-quick mind starting connecting dots, and she blurted, "You love him."

Ziva nodded, meeting Abby's eyes, but unable to look at her boss. The time for lies was not now. "I do."

If Ziva was surprised by the breath-stealing hug she suddenly found herself in, she was floored by the half-smile on Gibbs' face. She had expected the man to ream her out for her admission. _He's known as long as we have, _she thought. _Longer?_

Ziva collapsed tiredly next to Gibbs as soon as Abby released her and headed down the hall at a break-neck pace.

"Gibbs, I—" she began, unable to believe that the man would just let this go. She suddenly felt sick at the thought that he might split up the team because of this.

"Ziva," he cut her off, but without anger. "I was in love once."

His words stunned her speechless. She waited, thinking if this was how he started, then the reaming would be brutal.

But he continued, "I looked at Shannon the way he looks at you. We'll sort work out later. Just help him get better."

She still did not speak. Just nodded.

Gibbs watched her expression and was surprised and happy to see her showing such emotion in her normally closed visage.

He harrumphed. "About damn time you two admitted it."

* * *

Abby's frenetic pace slowed as she approached Tony's bedside. Her normally vivacious friend looked pale and exhausted, and there were dark circles ringing his closed eyes. She could see the outline of bandages on his shoulder through the thin hospital gown.

"Oh, Tony," she breathed. She stood at the foot of his bed, suddenly afraid of getting any closer. She hated seeing any of the team hurt, but Tony was always different. Now, as always, she found the stillness that was so at odds with his usual upbeat demeanor crushingly painful. An almost physical ache settled in her chest as she watched the soft rise and fall of his.

She forced herself closer to his side and sat. She suddenly smiled when he smiled a tiny smile in his sleep. Guessing at its origin, she thought about him and Ziva and found her mile-a-minute mind soon wondering what their kids would look like and if the little boogers would call her "Auntie Abby."

She giggled a little, unable to help herself.

She jumped when a low voice asked, "What's so funny?"

Tears instantly flooded down her face, streaking black makeup with them, as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "The kids you'll have with Ziva," she said, sniffling and thinking of how close they'd come to losing him.

He raised an eyebrow. "She said…?"

"Her face said, silly," Abby said, curling back into the chair. "She didn't have to say a word."

"You're okay with that?" he asked softly.

Abby laughed through her tears, and Tony marveled at the way she switched emotions on a dime. He knew he did the same, but her emotions were never faked. Everything that showed on her face was genuine, and he doubted she even knew how to fake feelings.

"Of course," she said, noting the tired way his eyelids drooped. "You're like my brother, Tony. I mean that. You scared the hell out of me. Of all of us. Even Gibbs."

"He still here?" Tony asked, fighting the blackness that seemed so inviting. His shoulder was throbbing.

Abby just quirked an eyebrow at him, and he smiled sleepily again. They both said, "Of course he is."

Abby laughed softly and got up. She brushed another kiss across his cheek. "Get some sleep."

She was pretty sure he was already out before she even said the words. She went to the door, stopping to look back at her friend. Her smile dimmed as she went down the hall to switch places with Gibbs, remembering another night, years ago, that she was sure he _didn't_ remember.

_Abby looked at the agent next to her in the cab and wondered how she was going to get him up to his apartment. The guy was bombed out of his tree thanks to a night at her favorite club. _

_It was kind of her fault, really. She'd had a really bad day that just got worse when she was informed that one of the sisters from the convent had died that afternoon. The newly minted Agent DiNozzo—on his first day, no less—had been in her lab waiting on some test results when she got the news. She remembered hanging up the phone and starting to cry. Tony had walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, mumbling awkward condolences, trying to offer comfort. She threw her arms around him and sobbed into his chest, feeling him tense and start to pull away, obviously unnerved by the close contact. She started to pull away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but he just held her tighter and let her cry. _

_She finally stopped sobbing and looked up at the gentle concern on his face. "I'm sorry. I barely know you, it's just that Sister Clementine and I… I barely knew her either, but…"_

"_You know what always makes me feel better?" he asked, needed to say something to fill the awkward silence. "Booze and loud music."_

_She smiled and wiped away her tears. "Are you asking me out, Agent DiNozzo? On your first day?"_

_He gave her one of his dazzling smiles. "Nope. We can even meet there. Of course, I am new in town, and I'll probably get lost… or mugged…"_

_She shook her head, still smiling, and agreed._

_And so she found herself hours later paying a cab driver and helping an extremely drunk Tony up to his apartment. She was rather intoxicated herself and his weight wasn't helping her maneuver him up the stairs, but he roused long enough to realize where they were and unlock the door. _

"_You take the bedroom," he slurred. "I'll be out here."_

_He sat on the couch and put his head in his hands. He said, "And I'm sorry. I never get this wasted. I just… You're fun. And an amazing dancer…"_

_She grinned at him. "And I suggested all those shots."_

_He grinned back, pulling off his shoes. "There was that, too. Were those? Hell if I know. All I know is there were was a lot of that those shots." He started to get up. "Let me find you something to sleep in."_

"_Is that a ploy to come to the bedroom with me?" she asked, laughing._

_He blinked and sat back down. "No, actually. T-shirts are in the second drawer. Help yourself."_

_She threw him a mock-offended look but ended up laughing. "I like you, Anthony DiNozzo."_

_He looked up sharply at his full name. He said, softly and somewhat sadly. "No one calls me that but… Well, no one calls me that anymore."_

_She saw the fleetingly look of sadness on his face and said, "I'm sorry, Tony. Get some sleep 'cause you're buying me breakfast in the morning since you were too drunk to pay for the cab!"_

"_Deal," he said, lying down on the couch._

_She was awakened not a half-hour later by a strangled cry from the couch. She had to concentrate through her haze of alcohol to remember where she was. She padded down the hallway, checking to make sure the T-shirt she had chosen covered everything. She needn't have worried: It hung past her knees. She entered the living room to see Tony sitting up, head in his hands, breathing heavily._

"_Nightmare?" she asked softly, causing him to jump._

"_Abby!" he cried. He shook his head as if to clear it, but his words still came out slurred. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."_

"_It's okay," she said, sitting beside him. She realized she barely knew him, but she also had seen him stand unfazed in the face of Gibbs' wrath earlier that day so she knew he was not easily spooked. "Must have been a hell of nightmare."_

"_I'm so embarrassed," was all he said. _

_He was only slightly aware of her getting up and leaving. He thought she was going back to bed and thinking about what a freak he was. "Thanks Dad," he mumbled. "Not only did you beat the crap out of me, but you also apparently scarred me for life and now she thinks I'm nuts."_

_The glass that suddenly appeared in front of him made him choke on the end of his sentence. He wondered if she had heard while she wondered whether she should pretend she hadn't._

"_You're not nuts," Abby said, never one to fake anything. "And whatever he did to you, you didn't deserve it."_

_He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "No, Tony. You barely know me and it obviously freaked you out when I hugged you earlier, but you still let me cry all over your expensive shirt. And then you offered to hang out with me tonight so I wouldn't be alone with my grief. You showed me such a good time that I barely thought about the poor sister. You tossed back every shot I ordered when you obviously don't drink that often. I think I now know why. I don't need to know anything else to know you're a good person."_

_He didn't say anything. He just looked down at the glass in his hand and laughed. He sipped the whiskey and was glad for the burn in his throat. _

"_You can always talk to me, Tony," she said, watching him drink. _

"_Thanks, Abby, but it's really not something I talk about. Ever," he said, his eyes pleading with her._

_She understood the look and said, "I kind of figured that. I bet you're kind of a guarded guy without a gazillion shots of liquor in you, Tony."_

_He laughed and nodded, amazed at how he felt he had known her for years. "Yeah, you could say that."_

"_Now drink up, agent," she said, shaking a finger at him. "I doubt you're gonna wanna remember this in the morning."_

Abby curled in the waiting-room chair next to Ziva, not surprised in the least that the other woman was still there, even though she looked dead-tired. Abby reached a hand over and squeezed Ziva's.

"Come on," Abby said, standing and stretching. "I'll take you home. Tony'll be out all night and Gibbs won't leave until he talks to him because, well, I know Gibbs and he's like that so there's really no fighting it."

Ziva looked indecisive until Abby said, "Come on. Even warriors need sleep eventually."


	15. Chapter 15

Tony came awake slowly, the unrelenting throbbing in his shoulder coaxing him into awareness when all he wanted to do was sleep. With no visitors to distract him, he couldn't stop thinking about Ryan. He knew he should hate the boy, the _killer_, but every time Tony pictured him, all he saw was the life blinking out of his oh-so young eyes as the bullet slammed through his skull. Images flicked in front of his eyes like a bad movie: Ryan's battered face when he opened the door that night; Amie in the ever-widening pool of blood; his mother swaying gently, lifelessly in the breeze; his own blood on his father's hands. _God, I hate painkillers._

The grisly montage continued, and Tony started to tremble slightly, aggravating the ache in his shoulder. It seemed every crime scene he'd ever worked, every mangled, bloody, torn, dismembered, broken body he'd ever seen was parading through his disjointed thoughts, superimposed over his last vision of his mother. He tried opening his eyes, closing them tightly, but nothing banished the horror show. Finally—inevitably, he knew—the broken bodies of strangers gave way to out-of-body images of his own bloody frame. He saw himself as if from above, curled on the floor of his father's study after a particularly brutal beating. He remembered that one well since he still bore the scar from the letter-opener his father had stabbed into his thigh. Then he saw himself cowering under his bed, watching blood drip from his mouth onto the dusty floor and praying his father wouldn't find him.

_It's just the drugs… the hospital, _he thought, the tremors turning to full-on shaking. _This always happens. You knew this would come. _He tried to breathe through his confused terror. _I have to get out of here._

Tony shook his head violently to clear the images and reached down to pull the IV from the back of his right hand.

He gasped in shock when a hand closed around his damaged left wrist.

"No, please," he begged the man leaning out of the shadows. Before Tony could focus on the man's face, he shrank back, lost in the fog of drug-dredged memories, and whispered, "Father, please. Don't hurt me."

Gibbs would remember this moment as long as he lived: the quietness of the room; the antiseptic hospital smell; the panic he felt watching Tony try to rip the IV from his hand; the stiff feel of the stitches in Tony's wrist when he grabbed him; the suffering in his friend's glazed eyes; the anguish in his voice when he spoke those three little words that tore his heart out.

He spoke softly, easing his grip on the younger man's wrist. "Tony, it's me. It's Jethro… Gibbs. It's me."

Gibbs realized the worst part of the whole experience was still to come as he watched Tony's face become completely shuttered the instant he recognized his boss's voice. Gibbs didn't even see the embarrassment that he knew Tony would be feeling. He just saw… _nothing. _But he wasn't surprised. Tony was nothing if not a master of masking emotions.

"You gonna leave that in?" Gibbs asked quietly, glancing at the IV.

Tony nodded, fighting the still-strong urge to get up and run—especially now that he had spoken that stupid sentence. That pathetic plea would now hang between them for all eternity, and Tony fought panic at the thought that maybe it would be time to move on.

_No, _some rational, undoped part of his mind screamed at him. _You belong at NCIS. You have friends here._

Gibbs watched Tony's stone-faced silence for a moment, wondering what was going through his agent's head and knowing instinctively that none of it was good. He wasn't sure what to say. Sure, he and Ducky had had their suspicions, but simple speculation was a lot different from being face-to-face with proof that Tony's childhood had been a minefield. No wonder he made jokes to cover the pain. Gibbs thought back and couldn't remember a single honest, sincere, serious statement ever spoken about his upbringing.

"Tony," Gibbs ventured softly.

He let the word hang there as he watched the agent try not to react to his softly spoken name. They both knew Gibbs rarely called Tony by the diminutive, usually preferring a barked "DiNozzo" to anything else.

Finally, Tony turned and looked at his boss. Gibbs couldn't read his eyes, but the words were clear: "I don't want your pity."

Gibbs didn't bother to hide his surprise. His voice was calm and gentle when he said: "I don't pity you, Tony. I respect the hell out of you."

The words, the pain—physical and emotional, the exhaustion, the events and revelations of the past week, the tone, the look in Gibbs' icy-blue eyes—but mostly the words—were Tony's undoing. Gibbs watched the reaction like someone watches a car accident: He desperately wanted to look away, but he couldn't tear his eyes from Tony's crumbling face. It was as though Gibbs were literally witnessing the young man's walls collapsing.

Gibbs moved quickly, sitting on the hospital bed beside his friend, pulling Tony to his shoulder all while hoping he wasn't hurting him. He felt Tony's trembling, felt the wetness of his tears soak into his shirt, but he never heard a thing. He found himself thinking it was a tragedy that anyone could be wounded so badly that he learned to sob without making a sound.

Only once Tony had stopped shaking and started to squirm did Gibbs release his gentle hold. Gibbs wished he could just disappear from the room magically so he wouldn't have to look up and see the embarrassment he knew would be in his agent's tired eyes. He gathered his thoughts, trying to think of something to say. He didn't meet Tony's eyes as he slid off the bed and back into the chair. He took a deep breath and looked up—and saw amusement on Tony's tear-streaked face.

Gibbs was about to say something Ducky-esque about how unhealthy it was to cover pain with humor all the time, but a second glance surprised him again. It was genuine amusement sparkling in DiNozzo's glittering green eyes.

"You gonna share, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked gruffly.

"The bullet… on the rooftop." A pause. "You shot at us. You were going to shoot her, boss?"

Gibbs actually grinned, less from Tony's awestruck expression and more from genuine relief that the man could talk about the rooftop with only the faintest glimmer of the haunted look he had been wearing for so long.

"It _was_ a rubber bullet," he said simply.


	16. Epilogue

"Holy hell, McGee, you shoulda been here," Tony said the following morning from his hospital bed. "I was sobbing like a girl. On. His. Shoulder. Holy hell. Gibbs. Our. Boss. Gibbs. Me, bawling my eyes out."

McGee looked at his partner and chalked up the crazy grin and his words to the painkillers. He couldn't imagine either Tony breaking down like that or Gibbs being comforting. He wondered again if Tony was making it up. Or had imagined it.

"Tony," he said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"No," Tony interrupted. "I know. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't been here myself." He cocked his head to the side and frowned. "Maybe that's why you don't believe me. 'Cause you weren't here. Hmm."

"Tony," McGee said, only to be interrupted again.

"I know, I know. It's not funny. I had a total meltdown. I've got issues. I probably need professional help. I should get some professional help." McGee looked surprised at that until Tony wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and said, "Didn't say what _kind _of professional, though."

"Tony," McGee tried again.

"Am I talking fast, McGee?" Tony asked, talking fast. "'Cause I feel like I'm talking really fast. Probably 'cause I'm a northerner. We all talk fast, especially when on drugs, and I am definitely on drugs right now. But I don't really talk like I'm from Long Island all enunciating my 'G's and all. Like I'm goinG to the shoppinG mall 'cause I'm from LonG GUY-land. What, McGee?"

McGee stopped waving his hands and pointed to the door. Tony turned and saw Gibbs standing in the doorway with a half-amused, half-annoyed expression that only he could pull off.

"Oh hey Boss. How lonG have you been standinG there? Heh. No really, I don't talk like that. But really boss, how long? Did you overhear—no wait you don't overhear anything. You've got hearing like… something with really good hearing. I bet you could hear someone let one rip in Kansas if you wanted to. Not that you would want to. I'm going to shut up now." He looked down at his hands. "Ooooh," he whispered, fingers wiggling. "_Fingers._"

"You ready to go, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, nodding at McGee, who promptly but gently head-slapped Tony, who was still enraptured by his fingers.

"Geez, boss. Why didn't you say that earlier?"


End file.
